


To All the Wizards I've Considered Before

by FullofWrackspurts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - To All the Boys I've Loved Before Fusion, Black Hermione Granger, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hogwarts BSU, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 67,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullofWrackspurts/pseuds/FullofWrackspurts
Summary: Lists had never failed Hermione before. So when her feelings for Ron get out of hand, it's only natural for her to write a list to clear her mind. She would come up with a list of boys most objectively compatible with her, detail the reasons why, and choose someone from the list to serve as a distraction. Of course, she never dreamed that her notes would all magically get sent out. (Inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before)





	1. The List

Sharp pain filled Hermione’s throat. Both of her hands gripped the side of the sink, as she shook from the force of her own emotions. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat down, back to its rightful place. The tears streamed down her face, landing with a loud splatter in the sink. _Why was he doing this_?

Bloodshot, brown eyes looked back at her from the mirror, peeking beneath the mass of dark brown curls on her head. She looked as utterly ridiculous as she felt. She wiped her sleeve roughly across her face, taking slow shuddering breaths like her mother had taught her.

 _Calm and steady,_ she thought.

People had teased her for being a “know-it-all” and a “goody-two-shoes” her whole life. Yet, in the first week of Ron and Lavender’s newfound relationship, he had managed to consistently reduce her to tears either by being outright mean to Hermione or plainly ignoring her. This teasing from him shouldn’t be any different than her past school bullies. And yet, it was.

_Calm and steady. A boy is not worth crying over._

She repeated this mantra with each breath she took. It was no use. The vision of Ron’s cruel smile swam in her mind.

-

Professor McGonagall had just finished instructing them on the principles of transforming human appearance. She was working diligently to non-verbally lighten her own eyebrows in the mirrors that were conjured before them. She had just given Harry a reproachful look after hearing him muttering the incantation under his breath when she heard a shocked exclamation. The class laughed as everyone observed Ron’s newly acquired handlebar mustache.

 _I guess he's gotten that attention he apparently wants so badly,_ Hermione had thought to herself as she laughed with the rest of her peers.

Professor McGonagall, lips pursed in disapproval, removed the mustache with a quick flick of her wand. Ron had turned to glare at her, as if she had been the one to conjure the mustache for him. Hermione had glared right back at him.

It was later in the lesson when everyone had mostly forgotten about Ron’s hefty handlebar mustache that he started in on her once again.

“Now, why is it inadvisable for a witch or wizard to transfigure themselves into an inanimate object?” Professor McGonagall asked the class. The class turned to Hermione expectantly, prepared for her to raise her hand and answer.

“Oh Professor, Professor! Please pick me! Oh please, Professor. However will anyone notice me if I don’t answer this question?” Ron’s mocking high-pitched voice had cut right through her from across the room. He bounced in his seat in a way that, although exaggerated, was not unlike Hermione when she was particularly excited by a subject.

Hermione’s face had grown hot. Lavender and Parvati were cackling while Ron beamed, soaking in the attention. Professor McGonagall’s mouth formed a tight thin line that usually meant trouble. She tore her gaze away and glared down at her notes. Her vision was already blurring. The buzzing in her mind drowned out Professor McGonagall’s response.

_“She’s a nightmare, honestly. It’s no wonder no one likes her.”_

The memory of those words washed over her like acid on her tongue. After all this time, that’s what they had come back to?  Growing up, her Muggle classmates had teased her relentlessly. At Hogwarts, Snape and other Slytherins were arguably just as cruel. Yet, somehow, it was only Ron who could always manage to make her cry. And it was at that last thought that the bell rang. She dashed out of the room, leaving her belongings behind, not sparing Ron another glance.

-

“That’s enough now.”

Her voice reverberated against the wet stone of the empty bathroom. She was at Hogwarts for one reason and one reason only – to get an education. Feeling more centered, she turned the tap to cold. She let the cool water wash over her fingers for a moment before splashing some on her face.

“You know, if you apply the sap of the Gurdyroot plant to your eyes it will decrease swelling and help to ward off Gulping Plimpies,” a dreamy voice said.

Hermione started. “Oh! Hello Luna. How are you?” she said, purposefully not acknowledging whatever nonsense Luna was trying to convey.

“I’m alright.” Her eyes had a faraway look about them as she stared at Hermione with her serene smile. “Why were you crying?”

Luna generally aggravated Hermione with her outlandish poorly researched claims but right now, as she stood there with her golden hair piled on top of her head and mismatched socks, Hermione felt heartened by her presence.

“Ron was teasing me in class today,” she said turning back to her reflection.

“That was very mean of him.”

Hermione’s eyes met Luna’s through the mirror. Although she was odd, she always had a way with words. The frank response quickened the resolve within her even more. “Yes it was, Luna. Yes it was.”

Hermione squared her shoulders. That was enough, indeed. There was a war coming and more importantly, exams. Yet here she was with her eyes bloodshot and still watery over a boy. She would get over Ron, by any means necessary. She knew what she needed to do.

-

The girl’s dormitory was thankfully empty during her free period. Crookshanks looked up lazily from his spot on the windowsill next to her four poster bed. Her book bag gave a very pronounced _thunk_ when she dropped it on the floor. Crookshanks hopped down rubbing himself against her legs.

“Not now, Crookshanks. I’ve got work to do.”

Affronted, Crookshanks stuck his nose in the air and sauntered back to his spot on the windowsill.

Hermione opened the drawer of her bedside table where she kept all of the stationary she generally reserved for letter writing to Viktor and her mother. She pulled out several sheets of parchment with a light floral design printed on it. Now settled on her bed, using her planner as a writing surface, she tapped her quill on her chin.

A crazy idea had taken hold of her as she left Harry – who had waited for her with her things outside – and Luna behind in front of the girl’s restroom. Her feelings for Ron were inadvisable, that much was clear.  Ron had never been very considerate, or kind, or thoughtful. Yet her heart still fluttered anytime he leaned over to her, trying to get a peek of her notes. His scent was always so warm, like fresh cotton and pine needles. (She would push him away every time, of course. It wasn’t up to her to pass his N.E.W.T.s for him.)

Being that her feelings were obstinately persisting, she would need to redirect her attention until they went away. This problem was nothing more than a puzzle. And the thing about puzzles is, they can be solved.

Her crazy idea was this: she would come up with a list of boys most objectively compatible with her. Through process of elimination, she would find the boy that was more appropriate for her romantic inclination. In focusing on these facts, her misguided feelings for Ron should dissipate. Lists had never failed her before.

There were many variables to consider: perception, compatibility, and schedule. The list of candidates she managed to come up with from that criteria was comically short. That was sort of the point, though. She needed a logical counterpoint to her feelings for Ron without risking actual romantic entanglement. Dipping a quill into a bottle of jet-black ink, she began writing:

_Boys Best Suited for Hermione Granger –_

_Ronald Weasley_

_Harry Potter_

_Ernie Macmillan_

_Oliver Wood_

_Dean Thomas_

She eyed the coversheet to her new project. A chuckle escaped her, causing Crookshanks to raise his head, eying her warily. Was this too much? Other girls her age didn’t deal with school crushes in such a clinical manner. Girls didn’t deal with a lot of things in the way that she did, she reminded herself.

With the list decided, it was time for the difficult part. She wrote _Ronald Weasley_ on a fresh sheet of parchment. What was it that she liked about Ron?  There was the way his brows furrowed as he concentrated during a game of Wizard’s Chess, his ginger hair falling into his eyes. She thought of the way he’d smirk and roll his eyes at her in an endearing way when she would excitedly explain a new fact she’d learned while reading. And then there were his blue eyes that would brighten just so when discussing Quidditch.

Honesty was the only way this was going to work, so she wrote those thoughts down exactly. As for what she disliked about him. There wasn’t much to say.

 _I can’t seem to stop the feelings I have for you,_ she wrote. _Which is not ideal considering how we stand right now._

There. The ending was honest and to the point. That was Ron’s done and it hadn’t been as hard as she had expected. Rather than finding it emotionally draining to detail the feelings she’d been grappling with for so long, she found it to be rather freeing.

So with that, she moved on to a new sheet of parchment for Harry. His was easy. One line graced his sheet:

_While it’s true that we’re compatible on paper – absolutely not. You’re the brother I never had._

Next was Ernie. He was smart and driven for a Hufflepuff. He really valued his studies nearly as much as she did. But he was insufferable. All of which, she wrote exactly on his sheet.

She moved on to Oliver Wood. He no longer attended Hogwarts, however she had always admired him. While it was true she didn't know much about Quidditch, his determination and drive caught her fancy her first two years at Hogwarts. And though she was embarrassed to admit it, she couldn’t deny her appreciation for the male athletic form. He was now playing for Puddlemere United. Something about the memory of his fierce gaze as he studied his play book and his polite greetings in the corridors, inclined her to keep his name on the list and finish his sheet.

Giggling as she eyed the last name on her list, she set the final sheet of parchment in front of her. On the surface it was quite silly, but when she thought of it, he was a strong candidate. While Ginny had only broken up with Dean a week ago, in her esteem, this made him an even safer choice for her battle of wills. They had been classmates for six years sure, but his most significant role in her life was that of “Ginny’s boyfriend.” However, you’d have to live in the dungeons to not hear the chatter amongst girls across various houses and grades that surrounded Dean Thomas. He had grown to be quite attractive the past few years. Some girls even argued he was more attractive than Harry Potter.

Hermione coaxed Crookshanks off his windowsill in order to give him a good pet. She thought more about her evaluation of Dean. He was handsome, but it was more than that. They were both Muggle-borns. He was artistic and quite intelligent; the only classes they didn’t share were Muggle Studies and History of Magic. Even she had to admit that was quite a full load compared to most of their peers.

Once she finished Dean’s sheet she laid them out in front of her in order.

“Well what do you think, Crookshanks?”

He appeared to look them over contemplatively from his new spot on her lap.

“It’s just a mental exercise to help me refocus,” she explained as she scratched him behind the ears in the spot she knew he liked.

He mewed in understanding, pushing his head into the scratches. She sighed, feeling a little lighter already from the exercise.

Noise rose from below in the common room. People must be coming up for the evening to put away their school things. Lavender and Parvati would be up soon. She gathered the pages and slipped them into her bag amongst her other essays and projects. Though there were a couple of candidates she was certain were already ruled out, she would take notes for the next couple of weeks to whittle the list down further. It was a simple enough plan.

After she changed into more comfortable clothes, she headed out the girls dormitory with Crookshanks at her heels. She glanced back at the bag one last time. The plan would work, she assured herself. She would out logic her heart into finding her old self.

-

Over the weekend, the autumn chill had given way to winter mist. As Hermione walked through the breezy corridors down to the Great Hall for breakfast, she pulled her cloak and scarf closer to her. She made a mental note to give Harry the scarf she had knitted him over the summer. She knew his uncle and aunt wouldn’t have bought him any new winter wear over the break.

When she reached the Gryffindor table for breakfast, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh orange juice filled her nose. She was pleased to see Harry alone. He had spent the weekend drilling the Quidditch team in new formations to accommodate Dean, who was acting as their new temporary Chaser to replace Katie who was still being treated in St. Mungo's.

As she approached however, her skin prickled with irritation. “Must you read that thing at the breakfast table? Is there not some other homework assignment that could use your attention?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Harry said absently, not pulling his nose from The Prince’s book. “Don’t bother. There’s nothing new, just a few suspicious muggle disappearances,” he said as she sat and moved to pick up the morning’s Daily Prophet.

“Honestly,” she grumbled as she took her seat in front of him.

Between The Prince and Malfoy, Harry had been far too distracted to offer much support with her current predicament with Ron. It was probably for the best that she quickly ruled him out for further consideration, she noted humorously, he was too emotionally unavailable. In fact, she rather thought he was avoiding the subject. Of course, he must suspect her feelings.

It was just as well with her. Even if he had been emotionally available, she didn’t think she would want to talk about it. In an attempt to tear his attention away from that blasted book, she brought up the only other subject that interested him these days.

“How was practice with Dean and Ginny this weekend? I know it was the first since they broke up,” she said nonchalantly. She spooned some fluffy scrambled eggs onto her plate, not making eye contact. His head shot up from the book.

In an attempt to play his reaction off, he reached for his goblet, resulting in him sloshing some orange juice onto his robes ever so smoothly. “Erm, they both flew really well. You wouldn’t know anything was the matter, really. Ginny was joking with the team and making fun of Ron as per usual.”

After contemplating this a moment, Hermione said, “I’d say Dean is putting on a brave face for the team. He’s already been down to breakfast in hopes of avoiding Ginny at the moment, see?” She indicated to Seamus who was eating by himself.

Harry’s eyes trailed from Seamus to behind her at the Ravenclaw table. Ginny had taken to sitting with Luna for meals since breaking it off with Dean. Hermione turned to see her shining sheets of silky auburn hair framing her freckled face. She was chatting animatedly with Luna, who was dressed in a pair of bright yellow dungarees over a blue turtleneck. They were an odd pair, but it was true that Ginny didn’t seem troubled at all. Rather, she seemed to be quite happy in Luna’s company.

When she noticed them looking at her, she beamed at them. Hermione did not fail to notice how Ginny’s eyes lingered on Harry before she turned her attention back to Luna. When Hermione turned back to Harry, he was bright red. She raised her eyebrow at him knowingly.

“Oh, shut up.”

-

Their first two classes were spent with Hermione trying to prod Harry into just talking to Ginny. He wouldn’t confirm what she had suspected since their summer at the Burrow, but his red face and curt nods told her all she needed to know.

In Transfiguration, they were partnered together, since Lavender managed to claim Ron before Ron could claim Harry. They were meant to be lightening each other’s eyebrows, having mastered transfiguring their own. Hermione had already successfully turned Harry’s eyebrows to a shade of platinum that even Malfoy would have envied.

Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry shook his wand at her face. “You’re too close Harry. You have to remember, you’re casting the spell but you’re removing the pigment. Channel that.” He grunted and tried again. “Let’s hope wooing Ginny goes better than this – OUCH!”

He had whacked her with his wand while animatedly trying to transfigure her eyebrows. His glare let her know that that conversation was in fact over. She couldn’t help the smirk that came over her.

They resumed their work on Hermione’s eyebrows. He continued poking and prodding his wand at her while she alternated between encouragement and chastisement when he muttered the spell verbally. However, she found herself getting distracted when she noticed Dean Thomas staring at them. No, he was staring at her specifically.

Every time she looked up, his brown gaze was waiting for hers before quickly averting itself. Confused, she returned her attention to Harry’s antics. Clearly, he was no longer even trying.

“Fine! I’ll show you how to do it again. You just had to ask. You didn’t have to keep poking my forehead with your wand.”

As she raised her wand to demonstrate the hand motions, her eyes met Dean’s brown ones again. A thought occurred to her. Had Harry managed to horribly disfigured her and was he trying to hide it? She clamped her hand to her forehead. “Harry! My eyebrow is gone!”

No wonder Dean had been staring at her. Her face turned bright red. Harry burst out laughing. “I dunno. I thought it was a nice look. Now you can’t keep raising it at me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and set to work conjuring her eyebrow back into place.

-

The rest of her classes passed by uneventfully. She didn’t share them with Harry and while she did appreciate having his company, she actually preferred the ones where she was alone. Classes without Lavender cooing over Ron the entire period were easier to focus in.

At the end of Ancient Runes, Hermione noticed Dean lingering near her desk as she gathered her things. Before she could make eye contact with him or speak, he walked out of the classroom.  Out of an abundance of caution, she pulled out a small cracked compact she kept in her bag. Her eyebrow was intact and the proper color.

The embarrassment from Transfiguration had obviously made her paranoid. It was very likely all in her head. By the time she set out her study things on her favorite table by the large common room window, she was ready to forget the strange ordeal altogether.

Her books and parchment and ink bottles were spread across the entire table. Her book bag laid at her feet, now mostly empty except for a few drafts of essays she had started and other loose parchment. She dove into her Arithmancy homework and hardly noticed time passing. Students milled in and out of the common room but it stayed largely empty. The afternoon sun drifted lazily lower in the sky, signaling the near end of the last period of the day.

“Hey, uh Granger,” a voice called from the other side of the common room as it approached.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the chart she was studying to decipher a particularly difficult piece of numerology. “Oh. Hello, Dean,” she said curiously.

There was a small part of her that felt vindicated. So, she hadn’t been imagining things! A bigger part of her felt nervous. Though they were in the same year and house, they rarely talked. Was this about the eyebrow incident? Her face colored again. No, that couldn’t be it. Why would he seek her out just to mention he had seen her without an eyebrow? He was probably looking for Harry about something Quidditch related.

To her surprise, he sat down at her table. Although his eyebrows were furrowed in what was perhaps confusion, his earthy brown eyes were direct and determined. An echo of a thought about how handsome he was flitted through her mind.

“Uh, sorry for interrupting,” he gestured to her homework spread across the table before him.

He looked around awkwardly, seemingly unsure of where to start. This was odd for him. While it was true they had not interacted very much, Hermione did know he was a self-assured person. Unlike Hermione, it hadn’t taken him long to assimilate into wizarding culture and seem like he belonged. Had she not known otherwise, she would have assumed he came from a wizarding family.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m really flattered,” he began. “I mean, I never would have imagined you would think I’m, um, ‘intelligent or artistic’. You’re the smartest girl in our year by far, and all. But this whole thing with Ginny is still fresh and . . . ” he trailed off.

Hermione blinked at him a few times, confused. Was Dean Thomas rejecting her? She thought back to every conversation they had been a part of in the past week, trying to remember if she had unwittingly made any misleading advances. Her eyes fell on his hand.

He was clutching a folded piece of parchment with a light but unmistakable floral design printed on it. Her breath caught in her throat.

“This was really sweet,” he held out the parchment to her. “I just don’t think it would be appropriate considering everything that’s happening right now.”

Eyes wide, she snatched the parchment out of his hand. Her eyes tore through the contents. It was undeniably her handwriting. This was the same sheet she had written up as a mental exercise for herself just a few days ago.

_Your dimples are very lovely and add to the charm of your smile. It’s no wonder why girls are so taken with you this year . . ._

She turned it over in her hand, on the back it said, _From Hermione Jean Granger_ in an elegant script written in green ink.

That was not her handwriting.

Without a word or second glance at Dean, she thrust the parchment back into his hands and tore into her book bag. Frantically, she rustled through the various pages; there was her Ancient Runes essay, her Potions essay, and the rest of her loose parchment. Finally, she found it. Or rather, she found the cover page with the list she had drawn up. The rest of the pages had all vanished.

“Where did you get this?” she said as evenly as she could manage. Her breathing was heavy. How in Merlin’s name had Dean received that parchment? They had been in her book bag all weekend. No one else knew about them.

“In the owl post I assume. I wasn’t at breakfast to receive it, but the school owl found me out at the pitch.”

Panic was clinging tighter and tighter to her skin. She needed to get to Harry now and ask if he’d gotten any post from her. Nothing had come in the owl post for him during breakfast, but she had to be sure. She shot up from her seat. “This is a huge misunderstanding.”

Dean’s deep brown eyes were wide and a little worried. He leaned away, almost afraid of what she might do, clearly having taken in her frantic energy.

“Listen, this is not what it seems like. I mean, I did write this. But it wasn’t a confession. I was writing a list. I make lists to clear my head. It was sort of a mental exercise.”

Now Dean chuckled, raising his eyebrow. It was the same look she had given Harry this morning. “’More handsome than Harry Potter’?”

He was laughing at her. She stuck her chin out defiantly.  “So I hear other girls say.”

Dean licked his lips, bringing his fist to his mouth, clearly biting back laughter. “Look you don’t have to be embarrassed. I just thought you deserved a-“

“I don’t need an explanation, Dean. I don’t fancy you. Thank you for being a gentleman. But truly, I’m far too busy with my studies to be writing love notes.”

It took a few seconds of consideration but he nodded, accepting the truth. She started to gather all of her things, shoving them carelessly into her bag. She needed to hurry and find Harry before Ron could find her. If they all had disappeared, logically there was a risk Ron could have received his.

“Can I have that?” she indicated to parchment in his hand.

Oddly, Dean hesitated. “You know, it’s not every day the Hermione Granger writes you a love note.”

“It was a list,” she said as she snatched the parchment out of his hands. He laughed, leaning back in his chair.

Just as she was about to sling her book bag over her shoulder, she heard the portrait hole open. Dread filled her stomach as she looked up, her worst fear was confirmed. In came Ron, his tousled red hair shining against his freckled face. He looked paler than usual. Her stomach flipped and then it dropped. In his hands, a floral piece of parchment stuck out. His eyes met hers, determined.

“Merlin,” she said in a barely audible whisper.

A crazed feeling came over her — that Gryffindor feeling. She had to stop him, they could not have this conversation, ever. There was only one thing for it.

She plopped down into Dean’s lap as gracefully as she could and smashed her lips to his. He froze, startled. Tentatively, he brought his hands to her hips, likely to push her away. She could feel Ron staring. Desperately, she grabbed Dean’s face, deepening the kiss and trying to ignore the fullness of his lips against hers. Shock threatened to overcome her as she realized that she was properly snogging Dean Thomas and that he was beginning to kiss her back.

She heard a sort of sputtering sound from Ron’s direction. She had almost missed it, while focusing on not looking like a complete idiot. Snogging was not something she had much experience with. She suspected the kisses she had exchanged with Viktor, based on how many times they bumped noses, didn’t really count.

She pulled away from Dean abruptly. His eyes blinked slowly as if he were just waking up. His jaw flexed as he opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly, as if wanting to say something.

“Yes, well, thank you. Sorry about the note.”

Without waiting for a response, she stood quickly from their compromising position, snatched up her bag and hurried away from Dean. She brushed past Ron, who seemed to be frozen in confusion, and scurried out the portrait hole.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/2/to-all-the-wizards-ive-considered-before)


	2. The Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Hermione make a deal.

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon stowed away in the library. Instead of her usual table, she chose one far back in the stacks away from the fires and prying eyes. She had to keep her scarf and cloak on as she worked through her Ancient Runes homework, but it was fine with her. If everyone stayed near the fires, no one would be around to gawk at her.

Of course that was the least of her worries. She stared at the the runes willing the symbols to make sense, but her mind was elsewhere. Figuring it was late enough in the evening to head to dinner, she began to gather her things.

Her mind kept running over the same fact. Ron had read the note. Which meant he knew how she felt about him.

 _No,_ her mind corrected, _he thinks he knows how you feel about him. It’s an undated note after all_.

There was a bit of silver lining. There was no way to say whether she had written it yesterday or four years ago. Part of her knew they should be able to have an adult conversation about this. She could talk about her feelings, it was talking about them with Ron Weasley that was the problem.

She tried to consider the effectiveness of avoiding him altogether. Ron was a forgetful person. She could continue to ignore him as she had been for the past few weeks and maybe it would blow over. But he was also stubborn, she reminded herself. He would likely try and approach her again when she was least expecting it.

Putting her face in her hands, she groaned. There was only one thing she could do really. She’d have to tell Harry what she had done and why she had done it. Would it be humiliating? Absolutely. He would never let her live it down. She could see it now.

_“Has Uncle Harry ever told you about the time when your mummy lost her mind over a boy?”_

It must be done. He’d likely got his letter by now and had already heard some part of the tale from Ron. And frankly, with all of the shenanigans Harry had gotten her into year after year, he owed her. She would explain to him what happened, forbid him to laugh at her, and instruct him to convince Ron by any means necessary that it was some sort of fantastical misunderstanding.

-

The sky was dark as she passed the windows of the corridor leading to the entrance hall staircase. It was so late she expected Harry and Ron would already be done with dinner. Eating dinner late and alone had become a common occurrence these past few weeks. She blamed it on her studies but knew it had more to do with Ronald than she cared to admit.

Tonight’s dinner would be different, though. She knew how rumors could travel around the school and Dean was on the radar of many of Hogwarts’ female population. Her little episode would not have remained a secret for very long. As she slowed to a stop in front of the entrance hall, she took a deep breath.

 _You can do this. Calm and steady._ With that, she entered the Great Hall.

As she had expected, most people had already finished dinner or were in the process of finishing it. It didn’t escape her notice how some of the remaining students leaned over to whisper to each other as she walked past. That was fine. Only a few students knew. She could handle that. It would pass. They’d forget about all of this once Ginny and Dean got back together, as they inevitably would.

She was surprised to see Harry still sitting across from Ron, who was looking particularly stony-faced as Lavender chatted animatedly and unaware. Harry’s eyes met her own and he gave her a questioning look that clearly said, “What in Merlin’s name is going on?” from the other end of the table. It was as she had thought, he’d heard about Dean. Ron had told him, no doubt. She wondered if they had discussed each other’s notes. The thought made her feel a bit ill, so she shook it away as she sat at the other end of the Gryffindor table.

After dishing herself some shepherd’s pie, she laid _Wizarding International Trade and Migrations_ on the table and began to read the chapters Binns had assigned earlier that day.

“I thought she was dating Harry Potter, though.”

“Are you daft? She’s been seeing Viktor Krum for years.”

“Cormac McLaggen will be crushed.”

Whispers drifted to her from around the other tables. Her teeth were grit in a determination to continue with her studies. She refused to let any of this get in the way of her grades, especially in her first year of N.E.W.T. level courses. She may have temporarily complicated some things in the process of trying to divert her feelings for Ron, but there was no reason it should derail her whole year.

She had almost finished her shepherd’s pie when she felt someone plop down across the table from her. Irritated, she raised her head from her book. It was Dean Thomas. A sense of deja vu came over her. His eyes were amused.

“I expected you to be happier to see me.”

She stared at him, clearly unamused. “I appreciate you coming over to talk to me, but it’s really not necessary,” she said. The sooner they could put the incident behind them, the quicker her humiliation would fade.

He raised his hands in surrender, chuckling. His dimples popped out in soft relief to his otherwise rather chiseled jaw. She snapped her eyes to his, knowing if she looked at his lips she would fall straight through the floor at the memory of her embarrassment.

“Hey, I come in peace.” He leaned in, clasping his hands together, resting his body weight on the table. In a lower voice he began, “My mum raised my sisters and me to talk through our problems. So, I think we should talk-“

“No.”

“No?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “No.” With that she tried to go back to her reading, thinking the matter was settled.

Dean laughed incredulously. “So you think you can just write a dude a love note, snog him like there’s no tomorrow, then not talk about it?”

She blinked at him in surprise. Not because he was being unreasonable, but at his use of the word “dude”. It was so Muggle, it almost seemed out of place in the Great Hall amongst the enchanted ceiling and magically refilling goblets.

“What? I- no. I didn’t write you a love note. And I didn’t kiss you because I wanted to.” Hermione’s face felt very hot. She could tell by the skeptical look on Dean’s face that, he didn’t believe her. “I know it must appear very strange to you,” she paused, choosing her words carefully. “I said earlier that I wrote that as a sort of silly mental exercise and that was true. I wrote them to try and distract myself from the person I actually have feelings for. No one was meant to see them. And now it seems you have.”

At this, she surreptitiously glanced to where Ron had been sitting half an hour ago. He and Harry were no longer there, to her relief.

Dean leaned in further and something about the look in his eyes made her lean in as well. “What is this really about then, Granger? You don’t strike me as someone who would snog someone on a whim for the sake of a mental exercise.”

“It wasn’t a snog!” Then she sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. “I wrote other _notes_ – for lack of a better term – and it seems the person I do have feelings for received his as well.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “So, you wrote to more than one of us then?” His voice sounded offended but the dimple that cut into his cheek told her otherwise. “Who is it then? Harry?”

Did he really need to know? Maybe she should just say yes and let him think it was Harry. He was easily the most popular amongst girls at Hogwarts. Between him being the Chosen One and having grown quite tall over the last year, it was a logical assumption. But it would be a lie.

It was beginning to feel like she was in the middle of one of the Muggle teenage dramas her old school mates would rave about. Ron had her confession. It had been her carelessness that got Dean wrapped up into all of this. The responsible thing to do would be to explain herself.

His brown eyes looked at her expectantly, waiting for her answer. So, she told him. She told him everything about Ron, the creation of the list, the mysteriously accidental sending of the pages, and the panic that followed. When she had finished explaining, Dean’s dimples had been replaced by frown lines.

“You know he’s been a real prat, the way he’s been going around with Lavender.” He looked almost like he was concerned for her, or perhaps he pitied her.

“He’s being Ron. He’s always a prat. And he’s my closest friend next to Harry. So you can see how this is a disaster.”

“Well, what are you going to tell them about all of this?”

“I’ll be honest with Harry. He’ll understand, he might even have a laugh, I don’t know. As for Ron, we aren’t speaking much at the moment, so I’m not really sure.” Before Dean could respond she added, “I’m sorry for using you that way this afternoon. I panicked. I promise, there won’t be a repeat.”

Dean blinked a few times, almost as if he had forgotten that their kiss was what had prompted this whole conversation.

She pushed her seat back to stand. Her plate and food had magically cleared themselves a while ago. It was getting very late, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for her, as a prefect, to get caught out past curfew on an off-duty night.

“Thanks for understanding,” she said before standing and leaving Dean at the table with his thoughts.

-

Hermione was shaking from their interaction as she walked through the entrance hall. She had never spoken about her feelings for Ron out loud to anyone. Sure, she suspected Harry knew. Occasionally, he’d make a teasing face when Ron would sling his arm around her or lean over her shoulder to read her notes. Lately, he mostly glanced at her in concern when Ron and Lavender were around. It wasn’t something they ever acknowledged out loud, though.

And yet she had told Dean everything. _He does have uncommonly warm eyes,_ she thought to herself. Perhaps he was just one of those people who instantly put others at ease. She hadn’t even told her own mother about her romantic woes.

“Hermione, wait!”

She was half-way up the first flight of stairs when she turned to see Dean running across the entrance hall. Once he had made it up the steps to her, he motioned for them to continue up the staircase, apparently intending to walk with her back to the common room.

“You know, Gin’s pretty upset.”

Hermione felt her eyes widen. How could she have forgotten about Ginny? It was often joked that “Hell hath no fury like Ginny Weasley.” Hermione had never found the joke very funny. She knew Ginny pretty well and thought it was an unfair depiction. But still, she didn’t fancy the idea of being the target of her anger.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll clear it up with her tomorrow. I really hadn’t thought about-“

“It’s brilliant!” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Glancing over at him, she could see he was in fact very relaxed. His usual laid-back and cool air seemed unchanged.

Unsure of how to respond, she began, “I did hear you broke up a week ago. I’m pleased you’re not taking it too badly.”

He shrugged. “I was pretty upset to tell the truth. After last week, hearing that she had gotten upset about us gave me hope. Isn’t that weird?”

“Gryffindors have a special kind of resiliency, I suppose.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah I guess you’re right. It just let me know she still cares. Maybe she just needs a little nudge. She thought I was being too chivalrous. Can you believe that?”

She didn’t know how to respond to that so she stayed silent. Ginny was a fiercely independent person.

They made their way through the halls in relative silence, beyond the portraits who took to spouting reminders that curfew was approaching as they passed. Curiously, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Dean seemed lost in his own thoughts. It was strange to think they had never properly talked before. They had spoken a few times in the DA and had been partnered together in a few classes over the years. Now, though, they were speaking about very personal feelings with each other.

 _Perhaps that’s what happens when you snog someone,_ Hermione wondered. _It opens you up to vulnerability._

“What if you didn’t clear it up with her? About the kiss, I mean?” Dean asked suddenly as they neared the portrait of The Fat Lady.

They stopped a few yards away from the entrance to the common room. His face was earnest, dark eyes bright.

“I’m sorry?”

“Look, hear me out. Gin’s jealous of what she thinks happened between us. Maybe if she sees me with you she’ll realize I’m not ‘overbearingly chivalrous’. It could be the nudge she needs.” Then he added, after seeing the look on her face, “Plus, you’ll have the distraction you were looking for and Ron won’t think you have feelings for him!”

Hermione looked around, worried someone might hear his ridiculous request. In a terse whisper she said, “Are you suggesting that I perpetuate a lie about our supposed romantic relationship so that your real relationship will fix itself?”

“No,” he said exasperatedly. “I’m suggesting we continue with a fake romantic relationship so we can help each other with our current romantic entanglements.”

He said that as if that was any better. Hermione laughed. The fact that he was clearly being serious made it even more ridiculous. This was the type of self-assuredness Hermione had come to expect from Dean. She distinctly remembered the time when they were having to pick courses for their third year. Dean had closed his eyes and picked at random, completely unconcerned with the implications of his choice!

“If Ginny likes you, she’s smart enough to figure it out on her own. Besides, this is our first year in N.E.W.T. level courses and exams will be here before you know it. We don’t have time.”

“Look, don’t say no. Just think about it.”

Hermione opened her mouth expecting to tell him no one final time. Instead, she turned away. “Goodnight, Dean.”

With that she left him behind in the corridor, approaching The Fat Lady and entering the common room.

-

The halls were quiet, which was a relief to Hermione. Of course, this was supposed to be Ron’s night for prefect patrol. However, no one had seen him since dinner. Instead of asking her to cover for him himself, he had sent a fourth year girl who had been so nervous to pass on the message, she avoided Hermione’s eyes, busying herself with admiring Crookshanks as she delivered the news. Skipping his responsibilities to spend time with his girlfriend really was a new low.

 In an effort to avoid whatever empty classroom in which he and Lavender were skulking, Hermione deviated from their normal patrol route. Instead of walking the upper floors of the east wing, she chose to wander through the center portion of the castle, where they were less likely to be.

Huffing as she walked, she tried to stifle her irritation. Her mind was racing with all the things she would tell Ron when she finally saw him. This was it, letter be damned. Did he honestly not see how inconsiderate he was being, to her of all people? Had he really felt nothing for her over the summer?

She held her wand out, lighting the way. This part of the castle was home to the Astronomy Tower and as such, it was kept unlit to avoid interfering with Astronomy class observations. Usually, Hermione didn’t mind the dark. Tonight, however, it felt very empty. Even the portraits snoozed silently, unmoving as she passed.

Eventually, as she stomped her way down the empty corridors, her angry thoughts gave way to her heavy heart. As angry as she was, she missed Ron. She missed laughing with him as he pulled faces behind Mrs. Weasley’s back. She missed the lines of concentration that would appear in his crinkled brow as he played wizard’s chess with Harry after dinner. They hadn’t fought or bickered once over the summer.

 

A memory of a particular evening came to her unbidden. It had been late in the evening at the Burrow. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had already gone to bed. Ron and Harry had finished their game of wizard’s chess and retired to their room. Instead of joining Ginny in hers, she had grabbed her copy of _Sense & Sensibility _ and headed out onto the wrap-around porch.

It had been another dreary misty day, like most days were as the dementors continued to breed. That night, the clouds had finally given way to the starlit sky. The rain had left the air moist and cool, heavy with the scent of wet earth. The breeze carried with it a little chill, but it hadn’t bothered her as she flipped through the book’s pages, consumed with the story of the Dashwood girls.

“You should get to bed.”

His voice had come out quiet, but it had made her jump. How long had he been standing there watching her?  Ron was leaning against the frame of the back doorway. He didn’t roll his eyes at the sight of her with a book like he might have usually.

“I haven’t been able to sleep well lately, without reading something a bit more light-hearted before bed.”

To her further surprise, he nodded thoughtfully. He wasn’t holding back a snort or commenting on how it was the summer so no one was going to give her house points for extra credit. His gaze had drifted from her out past the garden. A darkness had come over his gaze.

“Dad says this is only the beginning.” His voice came out hoarse with emotion. He cleared his throat.

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She had never seen him this vulnerable. Embarrassingly, she had to admit that she didn’t think Ron usually paid much attention to the news. Yet, here he was clearly as affected by the reports from The Order and The Prophet as she was. She merely nodded. They had been so focused on injecting fun into their days to keep Harry’s mind off of the Department of Mysteries and his looming fate, that she hadn’t considered it might have been an act for him, too.

 A stronger breeze blew, tossing her curls across her face. Sheepishly, she had tucked her hair behind her ear. Suddenly she had felt very conscious of how unruly it must look, frizzing up as she sat in the moist air. His cerulean eyes watched her intently.

Without a warning he had turned back into the house. Before she could wonder whether she had done something wrong to make him go away, he returned. In his hands, he held a fraying grey blanket. Wordlessly, he walked up to her and spread it across the bench, covering her legs.

She blinked up at him wonderingly. He gave her a lopsided smile as he straightened up. His ears began to turn very red. “Don’t stay up too late and don’t let Mum catch you.”

Before she could manage to find her voice, he had returned inside. She shifted her legs under the blanket and her face broke out into a big grin. How strange that had been.

As she passed a paned window, her reflection looked back at her in the moonlight. She looked like Moaning Myrtle, withdrawn, pitiful. Why did she feel like this? One moment she would feel determined in moving forward, the next she was teary-eyed and wistful.

She remembered the look of concern that creased Dean’s brow after she had admitted her secret to him. _He’s right to worry,_ she thought. She had never felt less like herself. Perhaps Dean could see that. She knew he was one of the more intelligent boys in their year, but she hadn’t realized how observant he was.

Her face became resolved, once again. Turning on her heel she made for the Owlery, which was only a quick walk from the Astronomy Tower, leaving the forlorn Hermione’s reflection behind.

After making it up the several flights that led to the Owlery, she was pleased to see Hedwig, dozing in her perch. Most of the owls were out, no doubt hunting.

“Hello, Hedwig,” Hermione said after slowly approaching her, stroking the soft feathers on her front.

Hedwig hooted pleasantly.

“Would you be willing to help me with a favor?”

Hedwig froze and her eyes seemed to narrow suspiciously.

Hermione quickly quipped, “I just need a note taken elsewhere in the castle. I would use a school owl but I don’t trust them to do the job properly.”

With a hoot, Hedwig nipped her finger affectionately. Hermione smiled at her and stroked her coat some more.

Once Hedwig seemed satisfied, Hermione pulled out a spare piece of parchment from her robes and a Muggle pen that she kept on her person in lieu of an ink and quill. She scribbled a quick note. After she addressed it, she tied it to Hedwig’s outstretched leg.

“Please deliver this immediately. It’s important Harry and Ron do not see you,” Hermione instructed before quickly adding, “I’ll do my best to see that Harry gives you extra treats.”

Hedwig hooted her acceptance and took off. Hermione took a deep breath and was surprised to find that she didn’t feel nervous.

-

Breakfast was a quieter affair than the previous evening’s dinner. It was Friday and many older students had a free-period for the first half of morning block. The remaining students were still too tired to resume their whispers. Hermione crunched on the bacon that was cooked just like she liked, extra crispy but not burnt. She supposed that was the magic of the house elves for which, she thought with a twinge of irritation, they weren’t getting paid.

Guilt began to fill her mind. With all of the dire news and now her own social missteps, she hadn’t given much thought to knitting for the elves. She promised herself she would make time before the holidays to knit something for Dobby and Winky.

She was finishing her reading for History of Magic about the 3rd Goblin Wars and their effect on wizarding trade routes, when once again she was interrupted.

“Granger!”

She looked up the table. Dean Thomas was striding purposefully toward her. His expression was neutral and almost amused. Blinking at him as he grew closer, she responded casually. “Yes?”

He handed her the note she had sent with Hedwig last night. She looked down at her measured scrawl. _I accept your proposal_ was the singular line that stood out from the parchment, bold and daring. It shifted oddly in the light, having been written in Muggle ink.

“Are you sure?” His voice was passive but his coffee colored eyes twinkled. They made her feel emboldened. She smiled slyly.

“Yes.”

His face broke into a grin, his dimples accenting his cheeks just so. It was certainly not a wonder why so many girls had their eyes on him.

Without warning he leaned down and placed his lips on hers. His hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her into the kiss. She was surprised, but managed to respond as if it wasn’t a complete shock. He wasn’t snogging her like she had when she attacked him. It was soft but deliberate.

Not realizing she had failed to breathe through the encounter she gently pulled away, her mouth slightly parted in shock.

“Yes. Good. Alright.” Her voice was pitched a little higher than normal. She cleared her throat.

“Well, I’m off to the pitch to try and get in some extra practice before morning block. See ya.” He winked at her and turned around to walk down the row of tables.

The people around her had gone rather silent, she noticed. Ignoring her blazing face, she gathered her things and got up, abandoning her food. As she walked out, everyone averted their gaze, acting like they were never looking at her in the first place. Everyone, that is, except Ginny, who was sitting next to Luna at the Ravenclaw table and staring at her with her icy blue eyes.

-

Hermione knew she needed to speak to Harry before the rumors lingering from yesterday and fueled by the morning got anymore out of hand. However, she had found no time to talk to him in Herbology later that morning. The snargaluffs needed pruning and it took the combined efforts of half the class to even begin pruning a single plant. Dean had to leave class early to escort Seamus, who had sustained some rather deep lacerations from the snargaluff vines, to the hospital wing.

It wasn’t until they were walking to the next class that Hermione was able to get Harry alone and begin telling him the news of her “relationship.”

“So,” she began, uncertainly. “I can only assume you’ve heard about Dean and me.” That sentence felt odd coming out of her mouth, probably because it was a lie. But she figured it would  be best for her to be direct and cut to the chase. If anyone could sense she was lying, it would be Harry.

“Uh yeah. I heard some things,” he said awkwardly, as he motioned for her to go ahead of him up the staircase. “What’s that about? Are you two –”

“Dating? Yes, it seems so,” she said.

“Well that’s rather . . .” he trailed off seeming at a loss for words, “sudden?”

She tried to laugh it off. Could she really keep this going? Her palms were sweating and a pit of guilt was growing in her stomach. Of course their relationship seemed sudden, it was fake. This was why Hermione didn’t lie if she could avoid it. There were too many pieces to track.

Before Harry could ask anything further, their conversation was stopped short as they entered the Charms classroom. They were surprised to find the desks had been cleared out. Instead there were large piles of wood and other kindling scattered throughout the room.

N.E.W.T. level classes had indeed proven to be more advanced with more lessons stressing the advanced practical applications of what they had learned. Hermione imagined they were likely moving on to the practical application of _Aguamenti._

“In pairs! In pairs, if you please Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter!” called Professor Flitwick as he bustled into the room levitating more crates of wood and leaves behind him.

They moved to a pile situated towards the back, leaving the other students filing in to find spots further away.

“Dean,” Harry said incredulously to himself. He was still clearly processing this surprising piece of news. “Wow Hermione, I mean I didn’t realize – have you both ever even talked?”

“We’ve known each other for six years Harry, of course we’ve spoken.”

Realistically, she knew she couldn’t keep dodging his questions about the sudden manifestation of her and Dean’s apparent affection. But what would she say? She made a mental note that they would need to iron out the details of their relationship later. If they didn’t line up their lies and truths they would be caught before they really started, and that would be more humiliating than just admitting to the note.

“I don’t disapprove. He’s a good bloke. It's just that you said he was still upset about Ginny. And I assumed that you liked –“ he cut himself off. “Well anyway. I’m happy if you are. You’re smart enough to know what you’re doing.”

She could have laughed out loud at the insinuation that she had any idea what she was doing, but before she could respond, Professor Flitwick took to the front of the class to explain the lesson for the day. It was as she thought. He would be lighting the wood piles on fire and they were tasked with using _Aguamenti_ to put the fires out.

Her eyes drifted over the now full classroom. Ron looked almost back to himself compared to yesterday. He was joking with Lavender, who was trying to stifle her giggles at something he had said, as usual. Dean and Seamus still hadn’t returned, she noted with vague concern.

Professor Flitwick gave a great wave of his wand from the pile of books on top of which he stood, and all the wood piles lit simultaneously. Hermione went first on their pile. Her forehead creased in concentration. Hermione was already able to conjure a small wave of water, it was doing so non-verbally which was still challenging her.

 _Aguamenti,_ she thought to herself. _Aguamenti._

“Also, what was with that note you sent me?” Harry’s voice cut through her concentration and her steady stream of water vanished. The flames which had been hampered by the water, began to increase again.

“What?” she asked, blowing some hair out of her face.

“The note.”

She was happy that he took that moment to take a turn at the fire, so he couldn’t see the panic in her face. His own face was taut with concentration, trying to get the non-verbal charm to work. Harry hadn’t been applying himself lately, all because he was too busy reading his Potions book and worrying about what Draco Malfoy was doing. He was amongst those who still hadn’t moved past their small jets of water.

How could she have forgotten the other notes? While her fake relationship with Dean might keep Ron at bay, the other people who had received a note would likely still have questions. Hadn’t she called Ernie insufferable in his? Everything had been too hectic in Herbology for her to notice whether he was acting any differently towards her. She shook that thought away for the moment.

“Oh, I had forgotten about that...” she stalled trying to think fast. What good was being ‘the smartest witch in her year’ if she couldn’t even come up with a good lie? “I was trying to prove my point about how easy it is to sneak notes and packages to you!”

Now she had broken his concentration. He looked at her, bewildered. “What?”

“I warned you that several girls have been moving to try and get you to ask them to Professor Slughorn’s party!” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her own mouth.

“What does me receiving a note from you prove?”

“How easily accessible you are at all times, clearly. I’m just trying to remind you to stay constantly vigilant and to find a date!”

He looked at her over his glasses. The reflection of the flames in the lenses didn’t hide his skepticism. “OK, Mad-Eye. But what was that nonsense about compatibility?”

“Nevermind that! I was just ensuring you remembered you needed a date and that I wasn’t available.”

“Ms. Granger, let’s see what you’ve managed to work up!” called Professor Flitwick as he ambled over to them.

Without another word on the matter to Harry, Hermione began swirling her wand in a stirring motion, eyes focusing on the flames. She imagined the cool slick feeling that water left on her skin and thought _Aguamenti_. A puddle began to pool and swirl at her feet, following the movements of her wand. With a smile, she directed it towards the burning wood pile and it was doused completely by the wave of water.

“10 points to Gryffindor for excellent form Ms. Granger!”

Her grin widened, pleased with herself. She even managed to look unphased when Dean then walked in with a heavily bandaged Seamus.

-

As the day wore on, the whispering had returned. There was a lot of speculation about how Hermione Granger had managed to snag freshly single Dean Thomas. Lavender and Parvati had even managed to corner her during lunch.

“Are you really dating Dean Thomas?” Lavender had asked incredulously. “We’re your roommates! How long did you think you could keep that a secret?”

“Erm –“ Hermione said. They giggled. That was all the confirmation they needed, apparently.

“You do like your Quidditch players, don’t you? First Krum, now Thomas plays and you’ve snagged him, too,” Parvati said, impressed.

At that moment, Hermione noticed Ron walking up the Gryffindor table, having spotted the three of them. He looked a tad confused and worried. Did he forget that they were roommates long before he began dating Lavender? As he drew nearer, she responded loudly, correcting Parvati, “I like _really good_ Quidditch players.”

Ron’s face went strangely blank, clearly having overheard her statement. Before she could even feign a greeting, Lavender and Parvati immediately began whispering as they walked away, dragging Ron with them. She hadn’t been prepared to be accosted like that, but she was proud of herself just the same.

-

It had been a long day. The lessons in each course had been challenging even by Hermione’s standards. By the end of Arithmancy she was just relieved the day was over.

The bell sounded and she got up, heading straight to Dean’s desk. They hadn’t spoken much throughout the day, which would not be enough to keep up the charade of their relationship.

“We need to talk,” Hermione said standing over him as he gathered his things.

He raised his eyebrow. Did he know attractive he was when he did that? Perhaps boys did these sort of things on purpose. “Alright,” he said.

After he had gathered his things, she led him out of the classroom down the corridor at a brisk pace. They headed in the opposite direction of the rest of the students. Finally satisfied that she had found somewhere no one would stumble in on them, she wrenched open the door to an old unused classroom. Dean followed her in, shutting the door behind them as she set her bag on a desk and began searching for some parchment and a quill.

“So, are you backing out on me already?”

She turned to look at him, confused. He was leaning on the door with his arms crossed. “What? No, of course not.” He genuinely seemed surprised at her response. “Why would I be backing out?”

“I dunno. Maybe it was too much pressure.” He shrugged, pushing himself off the door. “I’ve been dodging questions about us non-stop today and that was just from Seamus.” He plopped down in the seat in front of her.

“Too much pressure.” She scoffed. “But that is why I brought you here. We need to get our stories straight. If we don’t, this whole scheme is going to fail.” She set her book bag on the ground and took a seat at the desk.

“Easy. You’ve always been attracted to, what was it that you said, _my lovely dimples_?” He was laughing, pleased with his joke. “You heard Ginny and I broke up and you took your opportunity.”

Hermione glared at him. “Absolutely not. You needed help on your Arithmancy work and I’d been tutoring you. We got close from there and after your break-up with Ginny, the moment presented itself.”

“Fine. But it wasn’t tutoring. We were studying as partners.”

His eyes flashed. He was challenging her. She nodded in acceptance and he whooped in celebration of his small victory.

“We’re also going to need some rules.” As she said this, she uncapped her inkwell and dipped her quill into it.

Dean groaned. “Oh no, you’re going to turn this into school work, too? Ron always complains about your militant study schedule, but I always thought he was being a baby.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she wrote at the top of the parchment, _Relationship Contract_ .  “Don’t make that face at me,” she said. “We just need to outline our expectations and boundaries so we know where we stand on things.” Without waiting for his response she wrote:

 _1._   _No kissing_

“How is anyone supposed to believe we’re dating if we never kiss?” he asked incredulously. “May I remind you that _you_ kissed _me_ first?”

She didn’t need reminding. “I’ve never had a proper boyfriend before. There’s just some things I don’t want to do unless they’re real.” _Except those two times we kissed before, those don’t count_ , she thought _._ It sounded so sappy, which Hermione typically was not. “Besides, as a prefect I should set an example. No PDA –“

“– is allowed in the corridors, yes I know. Your lot does like to dock points for that,” he said chuckling. “But alright. I understand. No kissing. What can we do then?”

“Well anything before that I think is fine – hugging, holding hands, putting your hand around my waist,” she said ticking the things off on her fingers.

“OK, my rule is, you have to come to all of my Quidditch matches.” Then he added quickly, “And none of this ‘but I have to study’ nonsense. All of my mates girlfriends go to their football matches.”

She busted out laughing. It was so bizarre to be sitting in an empty classroom with Dean Thomas in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry discussing football in relation to their fake relationship. She ignored his inquiries into “what was so funny?”

 _2\. Hermione will attend_ _all_ _of Dean’s Quidditch matches_

“Fine,” she said after writing the rule down. “But you have to go to Professor Slughorn’s Christmas Party with me.”

“I’ve never had the pleasure of attending a Slug Club event,” he said with interest.

“It’s formal, ‘fetching dress’ I think wizards call it, so you’ll need dress robes.”

After she jotted that down she looked up at him. He was deep in thought,leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, staring into space. She noticed that his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing ink smudges along his arms.

Suddenly, coming to, he said, “I could draw you things, maybe a sketch a day.” His voice came out quietly. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that he was a little embarrassed. She knew he was artistic; they had worked on a Quidditch banner together their first year.

“Gin sometimes complained that I wasn’t romantic enough, which seems to go against the idea of me being overbearing or chivalrous, but whatever.” He shrugged, doing his best to seem unbothered. “Anyway, I’m not great with words and stuff but I can draw you something every day. If she notices it’ll drive her crazy.”

“Romantic,” she said sarcastically, writing that as the fourth rule. “Is there anything else?” She scanned the list, racking her brain for any more ideas. Before she could come up with anything else, Dean snatched the parchment and quill from her and began writing:

_5. Hogsmeade weekends _

“We have to spend Hogsmeade trips together.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest that they really had enough going for appearances sake, and even with the extra protections the Ministry was offering, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go, but Dean didn’t give her the chance. “Ron and Lavender will definitely be together for Hogsmeade trips and Ginny will be there. If you want them to think you’re unbothered, and if I’m going to get Ginny’s attention, we have to go.”

Begrudgingly, she nodded. She was uncomfortable with how much she would be doing to lie to everyone, but the alternative was unacceptable to her sense of pride. They were in it now. “Can you add that no matter what, we can’t tell anyone that this is all fake? It would be far too humiliating.”

Dean nodded his ascent, adding:

 _6\. Tell_ _no one_ _._

Then, he added two Xs with lines next to them, signature lines.

“Wait, what about an end date?” she asked. They couldn’t keep this up forever. Even well thought out and planned lies were bound to catch up with them.

“No. Nope. You’re not going to get to control this,” he said, his face looking resolute. “Trust your instincts. We’ll know when it’s time, and we’ll end it amicably. Don’t worry.”

She sighed, accepting she wouldn’t win that battle. “OK, but it has to be over before exams. I’ll need all my time and focus to prepare for them.”

“Oh we’ll be over by then, for sure,” he said with a confidence that she wished she felt.

“Good.” With that, he signed the left line and passed her the quill and ink. She signed her name and then held the contract out for them to admire. “It’s almost time for dinner. I need to drop all this off at the common room. Are you coming?”

“Nah, I gotta find Seamus and check on him.”

She smiled. It was endearing how he truly cared about his friend. “Alright, see you at dinner then?”

“Definitely.”

They exited the classroom and parted ways towards their separate destinations.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](http://www.blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/2/to-all-the-wizards-the-contract)


	3. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Hermione navigate their “official” debut as a couple.

As it turned out, committing to a fake relationship couldn’t have come at a better time. Spending her time with Dean gave Hermione a valid reason to be unavailable to engage in Harry’s obsessing. It was becoming increasingly clear that Katie Bell wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts before the start of winter break. These unfortunate tidings had given new fuel to Harry’s speculations about Draco Malfoy. He was determined to pursue his own ideas on the subject rather than trusting Professor Dumbledore and The Order, and no amount of logic from Hermione seemed to sway him.

That wasn’t to say she had gotten accustomed to the idea of having a fake boyfriend. To the contrary, she was stumbling through the whole thing. This seemed to escape everyone’s notice, because Dean was graciously picking up her slack. No one noticed her discomfort on Day One as they saw him handing her a note embellished with sketches, or when he was holding her hand in-between classes, and studying closely with her in the common room; the gossip spread itself.

Dean was a lot more skilled in his art than she remembered. The notes he had presented her thus far were usually just a series of doodles or cartoons. Her favorite was a cartoon of Professor Slughorn and Harry. In the sketch, Professor Slughorn was cartoonishly short and Harry wore a superhero cape that read “Chosen One”. The speech bubble above Professor Slughorn’s head read _“50 points to Gryffindor, Harry, my boy for being such a splendid Chosen One”_.

A few days into the arrangement, Hermione found herself crossing paths with Luna and Ginny. Hermione and Ginny didn’t speak often when they were at school, having such vastly different schedules and social circles. However, they had always been on friendly terms when they saw each other outside of class. Trying her best to feign normalcy, she squared her shoulders, resolving to move forward just like she would if she were in a real relationship. Besides, she had her own predictions about Ginny’s feelings for Harry.

“Good morning, Hermione!” Luna said cheerily as they approached each other in the corridor.

Hermione smiled at Luna, returning the greeting. Luna was almost dressed normally, draped in her winter cloak, except for the headband with silver antlers that adorned her head. “Good morning, Ginny,” Hermione added, smiling directly at Ginny.

Ginny allowed the slightest of smiles that didn’t meet her eyes to pass over her features in response before prompting Luna, “We should hurry before we’re late for Charms.”

"Good-bye, Hermione!” Luna called as Ginny dragged her by the sleeve of her cloak without another word.

Had she been wrong? She had felt so sure about Ginny’s renewed feelings for Harry, surely they would supersede whatever remaining feelings she had for Dean. Dread continued to gnaw at Hermione as the week went on. The thought of being romantic rivals with Ginny Weasley, who was popular and beautiful in ways that she wasn’t, just didn’t appeal to her. But this was the risk she took.

The plan did seem to be working, though. That she could tell, Ron hadn’t told Harry anything about his note, nor had he tried to approach her again. They were mostly back to where they were before – ignoring each other. She did find his blue eyes staring at her more often, especially when Dean was with her. Dean was immediately perceptive to this. When he noticed, he’d put his arm around her or lean down to her ear to whisper something silly to make her laugh. Every time she would glance back at Ron, watching with satisfaction when he had looked away, ears glowing red.

Possibly, it was Seamus’ reaction that had been the most surprising. The first night they had sat all together at dinner he immediately launched into news of Ireland’s most recently injured Quidditch player. This hadn’t bothered Hermione. She sat next to the two boys, fully intending to let them get on with it and get more reading done.

“Oi! If you’re going to date Dean, I have a few rules.”

Hermione looked up from her book-bag in surprise. What other rules could he want to add on top of the contract she and Dean had agreed to?

“No reading at dinner. I don’t want to be reminded that we’re at school while I’m eating my roast.” Dean was biting back laughter at the look of astonishment on her face and signaled to Seamus that he had no objections. “Secondly, you have to help me with my Transfiguration studies.”

“Oh, is that all?” Hermione asked incredulously with her eyebrows raised. Dean was now laughing in earnest.

“Yes, it would hardly be fair for me to flunk out of my N.E.W.T.s classes while Dean aces everything, all because he’s dating Hermione Granger.”

“That’s all well and good mate, but Hermione is the smartest witch in our year, not a miracle worker.” Dean ducked as Seamus moved to hit him over the head, laughing at his own good burn.

“Alright, I’ll help you with whatever subjects you need. May I stay?” Hermione asked sarcastically.

“Yes, you may,” he said in what she supposed was meant to be a stuffy English accent. It came out a bit more cockney than anything.

“No. Nope. We agreed no more English accents from you,” Dean said as he threw his arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

After that, Dean and Seamus brought her into the fold as if she belonged there, rather than like a third-wheel to two best-friends. That she could remember, Ginny hadn’t spent much time with Seamus and Dean. It was always Dean accompanying her with her friends. It suited Hermione just fine. It meant she was spending less time listening to Harry go on about the Prince and Malfoy – and less time around Ron.

-

By that Friday, they had fallen into a sort of routine. It was the first sunny day they’d had in weeks and the bright blue of the Great Hall enchanted ceiling shined accordingly. When Hermione approached the Gryffindor Table at the end of the lunch break, she expected to find Dean and Seamus locked in conversation about the latest upset win by the Chudley Cannons, but was surprised to find that Dean by himself.

“Seamus went to post a letter to his mum,” Dean said without her prompting.

She sat next to him as he finished up his meal. She had spent most of her lunch in the library, searching for the book, _Forget Me Not: the Metaphysical Structure of Memory Charms,_ that Professor Flitwick had mentioned in their lesson that morning. She wanted to check it out for some additional reading before anyone else could beat her to the Restricted Section copy.

“Are you going to eat?”

She grabbed an apple off the table and smiled. “This will do for me. Are you ready?”

He grabbed her book-bag as they got up from the table. In addition to the things they had agreed upon in the contract, Dean had insisted that he carry her books to all the classes they shared. They’d argued over it, but he ultimately won. She’d thought of pointing out that this might be exactly what Ginny meant when she said he was too chivalrous, but she knew that wouldn’t be tactful.

“Blimey!” he said as he swung the bag over his shoulder in a way that she thought was surprisingly effortless. “Have you considered going easy on the boulders?”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you I can charm it to make it feather-light. I only keep the weight because it helps me to remember whether I have forgotten something or not.”

He looked at her with amazement before sighing, resigned to his duty. “No. If I’m going to be your boyfriend, I have to do the thing right.”

The corridors were full of students rushing to their first class of the afternoon block. Hermione did her best to operate like everything was normal. _This isn’t normal, though_. She should be walking to class with Harry and Ron. Dean’s hand shouldn’t be gently resting on the small of her back as they walked. There shouldn’t be so many people whispering and staring in their direction.

“No running in the corridors, Nguyen!” she called after a Slytherin 3rd year who was often causing trouble. Ignoring the additional stares this earned them, she moved her curls over her shoulder exposing her _Prefect_ badge.

“Got to admit, I didn’t expect our little charade would garner quite this much attention,” Dean said to her under his breath.

“Surely you’re used to this, girls are almost always looking at you.”

Dean’s face flushed. “Not like this they don’t,” he said in a mumble. “Is this what it’s like to be part of the ‘Golden Trio’, then? People whispering over everything you do?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and Hermione felt herself relax a little without his pressure of his hand on her lower back.

“Well, I suppose Harry garners a lot of attention, so, in that way it seems like people are always watching you. But that’s different.”

Lots of girls swooned over Harry’s appearance, and everyone else was constantly speculating about The Boy Who Lived and the implications of him being The Chosen One. It was him they were watching, not her.

“Come off it. You’re Hermione Granger, the witch widely regarded as the brightest of her age, and you really think people don’t pay attention to you?” At this, he lazily tilted his head in the direction of a cluster of 2nd years who seemed to be talking animatedly while repeatedly glancing at her.

Dean smirked. She blinked a few times in surprise. “Coincidence.”

She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.

-

By Tuesday, she was exhausted. Her time was split between pretending to be Dean’s not-so-very doting girlfriend and keeping up with her actual studies. She hardly had any time for relaxing on her own. Her mother and Viktor both had sent letters she hadn’t yet had time to read. She resolved that in the evening she would make time to relax by a fire and finish them. If she was lucky, she might even have time for a bit of knitting.

Potions proved to be further trying on her nerves. They had spent the class finishing their Calming Draughts. Hermione’s was nearly perfect, Professor Slughorn had said so himself. However, the shimmer of the silvery liquid was slightly too bright. The subtlety with which Harry’s potion shimmered and swirled was masterful, and it infuriated Hermione that she agreed with that assessment. Of course, Harry accepted all of the praise and house points without mentioning that he hadn’t actually completed the assignment as it had been instructed.

She stormed out of the classroom without a thought to Dean, irritated with the whole thing. Despite her very best efforts, meticulous attention to the instructions, _and_ hours spent bent over the cauldron, she was still being bested by that dumb Prince. _Calm and steady, Hermione,_ she told herself as she strode away from the classroom. She had scheduled time to relax for herself, she shouldn’t let that “book” ruin it.

“Hermione, wait!” It was Dean. She felt a little guilt creep over her for leaving him without a word, even if she wasn’t actually obligated to. If this had bothered him, he didn’t say. Instead he said. “Harry’s running Quidditch practice after afternoon block to get some flying in before the break.”

“Is he mad? It has to be five degrees outside.”

“It’s eight and it’s the warmest day we’ve had in weeks.” He shook his head dismissively. “Anyway, I want you to come and watch after you’re done with History of Magic.”

“Oh good, you’re mad, too,” Hermione said while laughing. Then she said in a low voice, “I agreed to Quidditch _matches_ and the next match isn’t until February, assuming Katie isn’t back by then.”

“First of all,” he began also in a lowered voice, “if Katie comes back, you still have to attend, you’ll just be my date. Secondly, while it’s not in the contract it’s a great opportunity. Both our Weasleys will be there together and you can be sure Lavender will be too.”

She glared at him. Did he not understand? She _needed_ this break. “I have plans and they don’t include freezing my arse off in the stands!”

Dean looked as if he was trying to bite back laughter. The few students that were filing past them gave them strange looks. Attempting a straight face, he took a step closer to her, leaving only a few inches between them. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Language, Madame _Prefect_.”

Before she could retort, he pulled away. Her face felt hot. That was the closest they had been to each other since their last kiss. The past two weeks had been emotionally draining on her, which had to be why she was feeling so flustered. Plus, Dean was tall and his handsome brown eyes were twinkling down at her. Who could tell him no?

“This will be our only real opportunity to make a real appearance in front of _both_ of them before holiday break,” he said imploringly. “We can spend the rest of the evening by the fire, if you’d like.”

“Alright,” Hermione said begrudgingly. Then she added over her shoulder as she turned to walk to History of Magic, “I’m still going to bring some work to keep me busy!”

Dean only laughed and shook his head in response before turning on his way towards the staircase.

-   

After Professor Binn’s lecture, Hermione made a quick stop to the girl’s dormitory in order to change into some Muggle clothes and a Muggle coat. While her winter cloak was heavy enough for the weather outside, the wind usually found a way into the billowy fabric. Changing took a bit longer than she had expected. Crookshanks was lying stubbornly on her trunk where she kept her Muggle clothes.

“Crookshanks, off.”

He refused to move, bright yellow eyes staring at her defiantly.

She sighed and picked him up to set him on the floor. He was peeved at the lack of attention she was giving him. Well, she told herself that, but he typically only wanted her attention for treats anyway.

Once Crookshanks was sorted, Hermione headed to the Quidditch pitch. It was a blustery cold day.

“‘Eight degrees,’” she grumbled to herself as she hugged herself against the wind.

Luckily the sun still hung in the late-afternoon sky, which would give her enough light to read her mum and Viktor’s letters by.

As she approached the pitch, she could see the Gryffindor team already going through some warm-ups about 15-meters in the air. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly as she ascended the steps of the stands. Choosing to ride a broom for amusement always seemed to her, a Muggle-born, to be needlessly reckless.

She was surprised to find that Lavender was in fact _not_ in the stands. The only explanation could be Ron’s interference because Lavender, when left to her own devices, didn’t leave his side except at night to sleep. The stands weren’t completely empty, though. A few rows up sat Seamus, waving her over enthusiastically.

“There you are! I didn’t think you’d come. I thought you didn’t like Quidditch?” he said through chattering teeth. His breath came out in puffs of fog.

With a sigh she resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t be able to read her letters here with Seamus so near. It might look a little odd for Dean’s girlfriend to be in correspondence with an international Quidditch player with whom she was once romantically involved.

“I don’t, but Dean does. So, here I am!” She tried her best to sound cheery about the being there. She grimaced. Try as she might, she wouldn’t be able to fake that kind of enthusiasm for a boy. Lavender might be able to teach her a thing or two on that front.

The winter sun hung low over the horizon. A shiver coursed through her and she noticed that Seamus’ teeth had not stopped chattering since she sat down. Figuring there was no sense in being miserable and bored while they watched the Gryffindors practice, she pulled out her wand. With a few quick movements of her wrist she had conjured a few glass jars and subsequently three bluebell flames to fill them.

Seamus looked at her aghast as she handed him a jar. “How did you do that? You conjured all of that so quickly. I feel like I blinked and then there it was!”

Hermione sighed with frustration as she set the second jar between them, taking the third in her own hands for warmth. “Yes, but I muttered the spell out of habit. I’ve been trying my best to achieve 100% non-verbal incantations.”

“You’ve got me beat then! I hardly ever use non-verbal incantations outside of class. S’pose you’re the top in the class for a reason.”

Before Hermione could chastise him for taking non-verbal spell-work so lightly, a whistle blew. It appeared the team was done with their warm-up. Harry was instructing everyone on the plays they’d be running. Before flying to his position, Dean flew by the stands, winking at her as he passed. Sheepishly she waved at him, aware that his sudden maneuver had caught the entire team’s attention. To her satisfaction, Ron was glowering at Dean. _That’s not the point of this,_ she reminded herself. This was about proving she didn’t have feelings for Ron, although she did.

With what Hermione could tell was an eye roll, Harry blew his whistle, setting the play in motion. At first, Hermione watched on with vague disinterest. Then, as she watched the team moving about the field, play after play, some dynamics began to stand out.

Firstly, she realized that Dean was good, _really_ good. Ginny and Demelza were quicker than him from what Hermione could tell, but he could throw farther and could out maneuver his teammates. He weaved in and out of the formations with deft ease. She could tell that Harry’s reflexes were superior to Dean’s, likely due to him being the Seeker, but Ritchie Cootes didn’t even come close to touching Dean with a Bludger as they ran through each drill.

“He’s so good!” Hermione said equal parts impressed and stunned.

“Yeah he is. Shame about the try-outs. He wasn’t on his best game.” Seamus shrugged staring at his friend as Dean tossed the Quaffle effortlessly past Ron in the center hoop. “When competition’s thick, you can’t ever be off your game.”

What was more, Ginny was also flying really well. She had improved even from the last match. Watching Ginny and Dean fly together, there was no denying they made a good team, whatever their issues were off the pitch. They worked through Harry’s drills and plays without issue, predicting each other’s movements as they flew up and down the pitch. They were totally in sync. Ginny tossed the Quaffle up in the air right as she reached the center goal post, and Dean appeared above head, catching it. He threw it down through the hoop from an angle, taking Ron by surprise, making it nearly impossible for him to block.

“Fair play, mate!” Seamus shouted clapping his gloved hands together.

Ron, on the other hand, was flying abysmally. She hadn’t seen him fly this badly in a long time.

“He’s really is off his game, today. Makes you feel almost sorry for that git, McLaggen.”

Hermione, didn’t respond to Seamus, looking away in case her blush betrayed her memory of a certain Confundus Charm. As she looked away, she saw Lavender entering the stands from the other end. She waved enthusiastically to her and Seamus. They waved back, awkwardly.

“Let’s go, Won Won!” shouted Lavender from the edge of the stands.

Another Quaffle flew past him through the goal posts. He had come to a halt midair as he whipped around at the sound of Lavender’s voice. They were too far to hear, but Hermione could tell he had groaned.

The practice deteriorated from there. Ron was clearly rattled by Lavender’s presence. He was moving left when he should move right, falling for each of the Chasers’ feints. Harry was very clearly frustrated. He called an end to the practice session early and the team headed to the locker rooms. Lavender rushed down the stands to be there when Ron emerged from changing, ready to comfort him. Hermione knew that would not go over well. She felt a little bad for Lavender, she truly seemed to care for Ron, who seemed increasingly disinterested with her.

“Glad Dean didn’t find him a lass like that,” Seamus said. He did seem relieved. “You’re not so bad. The only thing I’ve seen you get that ga-ga over is new library books.” He screwed up his face in a doe-eyed stare.

“You’re probably right,” Hermione said laughing. Seamus was funny and not in a mean way like she was accustomed to from Ron or the twins. He might poke fun at you, but you knew he never really meant it. It was strange for her to think that he had taken such a fierce stance against Harry, when he was in denial of the truth about Voldemort.

Once they decided that they had waited long enough for the team to finish changing, Hermione vanished their bluebell flames and jars, wordlessly. Seamus lamented the absence of the warmth, and Hermione agreed. It amazed her even six years on that she could conjure such a small thing that could give off so much heat.

To their relief, it was far less windy on the grounds and thus measurable degrees warmer. Some of the team had already made their way out of the changing rooms by the time they approached. Ginny was speaking animatedly to Demelza and seemed to be purposefully ignoring Hermione and Dean’s presence amongst the group.

Dean approached Hermione with a cocky grin on his face. “So, how did I fly?” he asked, grabbing her waist pulling her into him.

She became distinctly aware of eyes on them, her queue to perform. The heat from Dean being so close to her, his muscular arms around her waist, his dimples peeking out at her, all of it was overwhelming her. Was no one else noticing how forced and insane all of this was? Ginny glanced at them from over her shoulder as she walked past with Demelza. This jolted her back to her senses. She had a job to do.

Hermione rolled her eyes in response to his question, swatting him lightly on the arm. But before she could ready a retort about how average he was, Seamus jumped in. “You were great, mate! The turns you were able to cut were phenomenal. If you had flown that way at tryouts . . .”

Amused with Seamus excited long speech about strategy, Dean didn’t notice as she disentangled herself from him. Ron had finally exited the changing rooms with Harry. Harry raised his hand in a brief wave, before turning back to Ron to continue what looked like a serious conversation. Ron seemed to be taking the coaching sorely, that she could tell. He did not wave to her, pretending to not notice her. His face fell further when he saw Lavender waiting for him off to the side of the group.

Having seen it before, she knew Seamus and Dean could go on for a while about the strategies and technicalities of Quidditch, especially in comparison to football. Dean liked to bring that into the conversation often, football being his main frame of reference for sports. She figured this might be her only moment to read Viktor’s letter so she left them behind, beginning to make her way towards the castle.

Unfolding the letter from her bag, she began to read as she walked up to the path,

_. . . As I have mentioned before, our last match of the year will be in Madrid. I am wishing that you could be there. A few of us team members will be staying through the holiday time._

_I have been reading the book you sent in the spring. This Nick Hornby seems to be very passionate about Muggle football. I am relating to him on this point. However, football does seem like a very boring sort of sport. Is all of it always played on the ground?_

“That doesn’t look like schoolwork,” Dean’s voice came from behind her. They had evidently put aside their football banter at present and caught up to her. With his eyebrows raised at her, Dean tried to snatch the letter from her. She snatched it back, with an indignant look on her face. “You know, it’s bad to keep secrets from your boyfriend.”

There was a mischievous look about him. Instinctively, Hermione began to back away, but she was too late. His reflexes might not be superior to Harry’s, but they were far superior to her own. He began tickling her, mercilessly. She cried out in laughter. Valiantly, she tried to fend him off through her mirth, but she lost the letter to him as his hands found a particularly sensitive spot on her right side.

“Give that back, Dean!” She shouted it but she was still half laughing, tears streaming down her face. Her hands were on her hips in a way that she hoped denoted authority.

“Absolutely not.”

She tried to jump for it, but he raised it above his head. He was so tall that this put it far from her reach. “Dean!” she whined, breathless from the exertion and giggling. She was almost ready to give up. Vaguely, she could hear Seamus’ laughter at their antics and his exclamations in support for Dean’s cause.

Dean turned away from her still holding the letter out of her reach, and began reading.

“That’s private,” she said, trying in vain to reach around him and grab it.

When he turned back to her, she knew he had seen who signed it. His eyebrows were arched at her in amusement and the mischievous look remained on his face. “Oh you’re in for it now.”

Expecting him to tickle her again she backed away this time more quickly. However, he didn’t tickle her. Instead, to her shock, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She would have yelled at him if she wasn’t so busy laughing.

“My bag!” she said through her laughter. It had fallen to the ground at some point in the scuffle.

“Got it!” Seamus called to them.

Dean waved back to Seamus with ease, as if he were simply carrying his book-bag over his shoulder. “Thanks, see you at the castle mate!”

Feebly, Hermione protested through her giggles. Her sides hurt. It had been a while since she had laughed that hard.

“Good work today, Granger,” Dean said as he gave her a playful hoist.

She propped her elbow on his back, and placing her head in her hand the best that she could, resigned to her fate. As she did so, she looked up at the changing rooms just in time to see Ron stalking back into them.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://www.blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/2/to-all-the-wizards-the-trial-run).


	4. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Dean attend the Slug Club Christmas Party.

Dean kept his word. They spent the rest of the evening by the fire in the common room. Hermione was able to finish reading and responding to her letters. She wished Viktor good luck in his match against Madrid and thanked her mother for taking the time to send the package she had requested. They passed the majority of the evening in relative silence. He sat at the other end of the couch next to her feet, sketching. Crookshanks was curled in his lap, clearly still unhappy with Hermione. Meanwhile, she began knitting a new winter hat for Winky.

After they had finished their game of wizard’s chess, Ron had gone to bed and Harry came over from the other end of the common room and sank into the armchair close to the fire.

“He’s going to cost us the Cup,” he said in dismay.

“You’ll just have to work with him over the break. I’m sure he was just having an off day,” she said, not looking up from her work.

“It won’t do any good. His flying is fine when it’s just the two of us.”

“Yeah, I thought he had improved since I first started practicing with you lot. I wonder what has him so agitated.” Dean cast a sidelong glance at Hermione, which she ignored.

Harry groaned and rubbed his face in frustration. “I thought we had fixed him after the first match, too.”

Yes, Harry had tried to fix it by tricking Ron into thinking he had taken an illegal substance before the match. “If Ron is going to get any better he’s going to have to do it on his own,” she said curtly.

“Oh you’re one to talk!” Harry said with a laugh.

Choosing to not dignify that with a response, she resumed her knitting. Dean looked between the two of them but seemed to think it was best to say nothing. She instead decided to switch the subject. “Did you manage to ask Luna to Professor Slughorn’s party tomorrow?”

“Yes, she seems excited to be going as friends.” He sounded relieved.

“Good. I don’t know why you didn’t ask sooner. Always last minute.” He rolled his eyes, ignoring the dig.

“Anyway, I’m off to bed.” As he stood, he gave Dean a significant look before saying, “Don’t stay up too late.”

After he had left them, Dean snorted. “Subtle. Guess he wants to be sure I’m not taking advantage of his best friend.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. She wrinkled her nose in response. “Maybe Harry is getting jealous.”

She rolled her eyes at this. He had taken to teased her about having The Boy Who Lived within her grasp, but falling for Ron instead. “He doesn’t care what I do. He’s just in a mood. It was Ron who was always the overprotective one.”

“You really have never had any interest in Harry? It’s always been Ron? Harry is The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, even! Don’t most girls like him?”

She sighed, exasperated with the conversation already. “Most girls aren’t also his best friend. It was only ever Ron.”

They drifted into silence as Hermione put the finishing touches on Winky’s hat. Dean had abandoned his sketch, staring into the dying fire while he scratched behind Crookshanks ears, lost in thought. The dim light from the fire cast a warm glow on his dark skin. They seemed to be the only ones remaining in the common room. Glancing at the clock, Hermione saw it was nearing midnight. The time had passed so quickly. She began to gather her things.

“Is it true then, what everyone says, about him being the Chosen One?” Dean was still sitting next to her but his voice seemed far away. His gaze was transfixed on the crackling log.

She hesitated to answer. Part of her, for some inexplicable reason, wanted to tell him the truth. Maybe then, the invisible weight she had been carrying since the summer would finally lift from her chest. He turned away from the fire to look at her. His coffee colored eyes were serious, searching for the answer in her face.

No, she couldn’t tell him. As comfortable as she felt around him, none of this was real. They weren’t actually friends, much less a couple. And even if any of this was real, this secret was far too dangerous to ever speak of outside the her, Harry, and Ron.

“Even if he was, you know I wouldn’t tell you.”

He studied her for a moment longer before a look of acceptance came over him. He nodded and got up. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and grabbed him. Surprised, he looked down at her hand clasped around his wrist, then to her.

“I, uh — sorry,” she said, dropping his wrist. “I just wanted to say thanks for keeping your promise to sit by the fire with me. I know that sort of thing isn’t really in the contract — well anyway. I appreciate it.”

He laughed a dry laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, Granger. You sure like bringing up that contract.” He shook his head again, and chuckled to himself. Looking back to her he said, “Goodnight, Hermione. See you in the morning.”

Five minutes later, as she headed up to the girl’s dormitory, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had upset him in their conversation.You’re just imagining things. You’re not really his girlfriend, he doesn’t care enough to be upset with you. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the dormitory, praying sleep would come quickly to put her mind at ease.

—

It was a disaster. Professor Slughorn’s party invitation had clearly specified “fetching dress.” She had owled her mother weeks ago, asking her to send her usual silver holiday dress to wear underneath her old periwinkle dress robes that she kept packed in her trunk. She should have opened the package sooner.

“What should I do, Crookshanks?”

Crookshanks turned to look at her lazily from her pillow on which he was currently snoozing. Today, he was less put out with her than he had been recently. This, she supposed, was because of the double helping of treats she had given him this morning.

On her bed laid a burgundy velvet dress. That Hermione could tell, it was very fashionable with its sweetheart neckline, fitted sleeves, and circle skirt. There was no doubt her mother had outdone herself, apparently excited with the opportunity to spoil her daughter. The dress was beautiful.

Her cape-sleeved periwinkle dress robes laid next to the dress. There was no way she could wear them in their current state together. It would look ridiculous. Perhaps, she could go without the dress robes. Dean surely wouldn’t care, being Muggle-born himself. But there would be very important wizards in attendance, would it be considered rude to show up in purely Muggle attire?

The door to the dormitory suddenly opened. Hermione turned to see Lavender walk in and flop down on her bed.

“How was Divination?” Hermione asked politely as she looked over the dress again, running her fingers over the velvety material.

Lavender gave a dreamy sigh. “It was wonderful. We worked on our cartomancy today. My card reading was so fascinating. First, Parvati revealed the Ace of Cups, which duh of course. Ron’s and my relationship is still very new, so the meaning was clear. I was a little worried when she flipped to reveal the Fool. Parvati insisted it was in reverse, but Trelawney’s cards are very faded. I’m sure it was upright...are you even listening?”

Hermione wasn’t. She didn’t want to hear about Divination and she certainly didn’t want to hear about the good fortune Parvati predicted for her friend’s budding relationship. She was still contemplating her best dress option.

“Ugh, OK I’ll bite. What is it? Are you having trouble picking out jewelry?” Lavender slid off her bed and walked across the room. “Yikes.”

“I know,” Hermione said sighing. She wasn’t the most fashionable of girls, but she knew this was a mess. “My mum sent a new dress for me to wear. She’s a Muggle and didn’t realize it would need to go with my dress robes.”

She shouldn’t be embarrassed. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that she was a Muggle and didn’t know about these things. Her palms began to sweat a little anyway. She was taking Dean Thomas, arguably one of the most handsome boys at Hogwarts, to a Christmas party, and she was going to look like she got dressed in the dark.

“Let’s not panic. Where’re your shoes?” Hermione pointed to what were once a modest pair of black pumps at the foot of her bed. They were now transfigured to a deep burgundy shade to compliment her dress. She explained to Lavender what she had done. “Well that’s it then! Just transfigure the dress robes.” She looked very proud at having come up with this solution.

“I can’t,” Hermione said. She held up the dress robe, letting her feel the chiffon-like material. “The more delicate or complex the material of an object, the more difficult it is to transfigure. Transfiguring these from a light blue to a deep burgundy is such a drastic change it might ruin them...“ she trailed off and began to think, if only I just had another set to practice on. But duplicating them might compromise the integrity of the fabric.

Lavender let out a sigh, as if she were quite bored. “Then don’t transfigure them into burgundy.”

Hermione mouth dropped slightly. That was it. “Lav! Thank you. Why hadn’t I thought of that?”

She shrugged and then eyed Hermione’s hair, which she had opted to wear out. Hermione had spent the previous evening deep conditioning it, not wanting to take any chance on it frizzing up before the event.

“Do you want to borrow my Sleekeazy’s?” Lavender asked, still eying her curls a little warily. Lavender didn’t need Sleekeazy’s. Her hair did have a kink to it, but hung in a looser pattern. Yet she still slicked her hair down with the stuff overnight from time to time.

Subconsciously, Hermione’s hand moved to her hair to try and smooth down the back. “Erm, no. No thanks, Lavender,” she said, suddenly feeling unsure of herself.

Lavender gave her a look that said clearly said “suit yourself” before heading to the door. “I better go. I told Parvati I’d only be a minute and I promised to meet her for dinner, for a girls night. Good luck tonight!”

Hermione tried to shake the thoughts about her hair. One problem at a time, she told herself, turning her attention away from where Lavender had been standing a moment ago to her dress robes.

—

Everything had come together quite nicely in the end. Transfiguring the dress robes into something complimentary to her dress was inspired. The now cream-colored robes hung delicately around her frame.

As for her hair, she opted to pull part of it back in a braid, letting the rest hang down rather than wearing her curls out completely like she had planned. Lavender probably would have preferred if she had broken down and brought out the Sleekeazy’s, but she felt more comfortable in her curls styled in what she hoped was a formal take of the basic half-up half-down style.

As she emerged from the girl’s dormitory she could see Dean waiting with his back to her. He was wearing what looked like a new set of dress robes. Upon approaching, she could see that the robes were made of an expensive black jacquard material. Hermione cleared her throat.

He turned around and gaped at her. “Hermione, you look...” He trailed off before finally muttering, “Wow.”

“Erm, thanks, I think.” She realized she was shaking and a little hot. Panicking, she looked for something else to say. She couldn’t sweat off the minimal makeup she had managed to put on. She had never mastered the process of applying the stuff, and no one in her dormitory knew how to apply Muggle makeup even if she had asked for help. She made a mental note to look into wizarding makeup options in future. Maybe they would offer better shade ranges.

“You look amazing. Really.” Dean said, seeming to come back to himself. Giving her a crooked grin he continued, “Should we wait for Harry?”

“No, I think he’s gone to meet Luna.”

He nodded in understanding and held his arm out, motioning to the portrait hole. “Shall we be off, then?”

Wordlessly she nodded, and without thinking about it, took his arm as they headed to Slughorn’s Christmas Party.

The castle was mostly quiet as they walked through it. Most students had retired early to prepare for tomorrow’s train journey back for the break. A few of the festive, candlelit suits of armor inclined their helmets in greeting as they passed. As they approached Professor Slughorn’s office, there was a dull din of noise that grew in volume and pitch. They stopped before entering.

“Hey, relax,” Dean said, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. He was looking kindly at her with those warm brown eyes.

With a faint horror she realized that her palms were, in fact, clammy. Why should she be nervous? It had been upon her insistence that he accompany her to this party. They were just going through the motions. Calm and steady. “Right, yeah. I’m good.”

She led the way into the office and slightly gasped. It was so lovely she couldn’t help but be impressed. The office had been decorated to appear as if they were in a festive party tent with drapings of gold, crimson, and emerald. The faint smell of cinnamon and clove hung in the air and a warm flickering glow filled the room. Hermione’s eyes trailed around the room over the dozens of heads looking for the source. Was it enchanted candles charmed to burn a specific color? Her eyes landed on an antiqued golden chandelier that was hanging in the center of the room. She wrinkled her nose.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Fairies,” she said with a tinge of disgust.

“In the chandelier?”

“Yes. Honestly, they may enjoy being on display, but caging them in glass orbs is inhumane.” Before she could finish her rant about how wizards were constantly taking advantage of the predispositions of other magical creatures, she spotted Harry and Luna.

“I’ll go see if I can find us something to drink. See you over there?” he asked. Hermione nodded.

She approached the duo and Hermione stifled a giggle. They were an interesting looking couple. Harry was wearing his bottle green dress robes that brought out his green eyes. They fit very nicely, maybe better than they had in their fourth year. She wondered if he had sent them to Mrs. Weasley for alterations. Next to him stood, Luna. Her robes were still in the style of Luna Lovegood but Hermione had to admit the way the silver spangled robes reflected the light was quite pretty.

“Hermione! You’ve come just in time. Luna was just telling me her interesting theory about the Minister of Magic,” Harry said, looking at her significantly. Then, taking in her appearance he said, “You look really nice.”

“Yes, your eyes have gone quite twinkly in this lighting,” Luna said in her usual lilting voice.

Not sure what to say in response to Luna as she often felt when talking to her, she thanked them both.

“Have you seen? There are a couple of Daily Prophet reporters here.”

“What? Did you speak with them?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Yeah, but I don’t think the bloke was much interested in uncovering the deep secrets about ‘The Chosen One’.” She swatted at him. They glanced at Luna, who was busy inspecting one of the potted copper-leaved Niffler’s Fancies scattered throughout the tent. “Don’t worry. I don’t think he was much interested in being here at all.”

“You still need to be careful, Harry.”

At that moment Dean returned with two silver goblets full of mead. Hermione took hers gratefully. He shook Harry’s hand before turning to Luna.

“You look very festive!” Hermione could tell by the way the smile met his eyes that he wasn’t making fun of Luna. He actually liked her robes.

“Thank you, Dean!” Luna said with a bright smile. “This is a very nice party. They’ve scattered these plants everywhere. They are very lucky, you know,” she said, indicating the Niffler’s Fancy she had earlier been inspecting.

Hermione’s eyes trailed to Harry who was looking between her and Dean. She wondered if it was working. Did they look like a couple? She took a sip of her mead to appear unaffected. It was spiced, her favorite.

Dean was speaking with Luna about her knowledge on the plant when he trailed off. Something at the entryway had caught his attention. They all turned to look in that direction. Hermione saw Neville’s blond head first. She felt her stomach clench as her eyes landed on Ginny. She was wearing floor-length emerald robes that contrasted with her crimson hair in a way that was dazzling in the glowing light. A slight smile graced her freckled features as her bright blue eyes scanned the crowd.

Both Dean and Harry were staring at her, in awe. A latent thought of Fleur passed through Hermione’s mind. Of course, Ginny was no veela, but she certainly had Harry and Dean under her spell. Glancing at Luna, she felt relieved that she at least didn’t seem to be aware of what was happening. Frustrated with both boys’ rudeness to their dates, she nudged Dean. He looked at her in surprise, as if he had forgotten she was there at all. She looked at him severely, trying to communicate that he still had a date he was being incredibly rude to.

Taking the moment to excuse themselves, Hermione pulled Dean away from Harry. It would be bad if Dean realized Harry’s feelings for Ginny and vice versa.

“It’s rude to come to a party with a date and spend the night staring at someone else’s date!” Hermione said in a terse whisper.

He grimaced, looking chastised. “Sorry, Hermione. It’s just hard. I think I can handle being around her, but then she’ll hit me with these sneak attacks and I just...” he trailed off and took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. I got it. It won’t happen again.”

His grinned at her, trying to look reassuring. She would let it go for now, it wasn’t like she was faring any better with Ron.

The night continued as they made their way around party. They passed an enchanted quartet of string instruments accompanying the witch who was singing what Hermione vaguely recognized as wizarding Christmas carols.

It wasn’t as difficult playing into their roles when they were wandering the party by themselves. Dean was the perfect gentleman. Every now and again, he would place his hand on her hip when they were standing next to each other. Whenever Ginny was looking across the tent in their direction, he would bring her hand up to kiss it as if she were the most lovely person in the room. He would give her a slight wink that she knew he meant as encouragement, but the whole thing made her want to roll her eyes.

She spent spare moments when she was alone, while Dean was off grabbing her another goblet of mead or glass of water, comparing herself with Ginny. She couldn’t help it, after the entrance she had made. It wasn’t just Harry and Dean, many eyes followed Ginny in admiration. Her silky sheet of red hair gleamed in the light and was easy to spot throughout the tent. Hermione moved her hand to her head to make sure the ends of her hair were still behaving and not frizzing up. How could anyone believe that someone would date her over someone like Ginny? How could this plan be working?

They spoke to various members of the Slug Club and Dean surreptitiously avoided the mistletoe planted throughout. Blaise Zabini had even nodded to them in passing at one point. Eventually, they were accosted by Cormac McLaggen. Visibly, he acted like his normal overly-charming self, but it quickly became clear he was only interested in hounding Dean for information on how he got chosen as an alternate for the Quidditch team and how he had managed to woo Hermione Granger. This was all spoken as if she wasn’t standing right there.

They had only just escaped when Professor Slughorn’s booming voice found them.

“Ms. Granger, my dear! I have someone I would like you to meet!”

Glancing at each other, they both shrugged and made their way over to where Professor Slughorn, a tall haggard looking man and — to Hermione’s dismay — Ginny and Neville stood.

“Ciaran, I present to you Hogwarts’ brightest student, Hermione Granger and her date—“

“Dean Thomas, sir,” Dean quipped.

“Yes, Dean Thomas,” Professor Slughorn continued, unfazed, “This is Ciaran Gates. He is the leading Muggle Correspondent and newest editor at the Daily Prophet. While not as hard-hitting of a subject as you might expect from one of my pupils, he is on the fast track to becoming editor-in-chief.”

A few how-do-you-dos followed. Dean shook Gates’ hand before placing it back around Hermione’s waist. Hermione tried to pay no mind to Ginny’s glances in their direction. When Hermione did try to make eye contact with her, her attention was firmly locked on Professor Slughorn. Sighing, she smiled at Neville who grinned back. He looked happy just to be included.

“I thought you two should hit it off, both of you having an interest in Muggle culture,” Professor Slughorn said encouragingly.

Ciaran Gates didn’t seem to be interested at all in talking to a teenage Hogwarts student, or to be there at all. Perhaps, he was here as a favor to Professor Slughorn. To any of this, Professor Slughorn seemed oblivious.

“So, Dean Thomas, you’re a Muggle-born I presume?” Professor Slughorn asked. Everyone’s attention turned to Dean, except for Ciaran Gates, who seemed to be searching for any excuse he could find to leave the conversation.

“Yes, sir. Well, so far as I know. My dad left when I was a baby, so it’s hard to say.”

“Ah yes. Gets more and more common all the time...” Hermione and Dean glanced at each other, incredulous at what he seemed to be insinuating. Professor Slughorn took no notice of this, shaking his head before continuing, “And how have you come to win the heart of the brightest witch Hogwarts has seen in the last decade?”

She winced at his compliment. It was alright when her friends joked about her being the “brightest witch” of whatever, but when people said this in earnest it made her uncomfortable, unsure how to respond.

Everyone was now looking at Dean. Neville was nodding, excited to hear the tale. However, Ginny looked at her with shrewd eyes, testing her. Everything she and Dean had discussed preparing for this moment flew from her mind. Calm and steady, she reminded herself. She looked away from Ginny and politely at Dean.

“Well, I suppose my charms and good looks wouldn’t sell it?” Dean said with a laugh. He seemed wholly nonplussed by Ginny’s presence when just an hour previously he hadn’t been able to hold himself together.

Professor Slughorn also laughed. “No m’boy, Hermione Granger is made of different stuff than most girls your age. Those paltry tricks won’t work on the likes of her. Tell me, Ms. Granger, have you met your intellectual equal, then?”

Hermione laughed nervously, feeling the pressure to respond graciously. “I’m not sure about all of that, Professor.” The questions were not only impertinent but nerve-wracking. Ginny seemed very interested in her answer. Dean was counting on her to lie effectively. “We both are the only Gryffindors in our year taking N.E.W.T.s level Arithmancy, so we began studying together. Most people don’t like my pacing when we study so I generally do it alone. He’s been up to the task, though. We just kind of continued from there,” she finished, lamely.

“Oh delightful! Young love can be so promising. Ms. Granger’s mind is uncanny. She’ll be the Minister of Magic one day if she continues on her path. You are very lucky, Mr. Thomas.” With that, Professor Slughorn threw back his goblet, draining the rest of its contents. “Come along Ciaran, I’m sure Mr. Potter is about here somewhere.”

Dean pulled her closer into him, beaming. She was relieved. She had done a good job, everyone was actually buying it.

“I didn’t realize Arithmancy required so much studying,” Ginny said, finally addressing them. Her eyes flashed. Neville seemed to be oblivious to the danger in her voice, but Hermione could see the slight tinge of red creeping up her neck.

If he had noticed this, Dean didn’t seem perturbed. Rubbing his hand along her side he said, “Yeah these N.E.W.T.s level courses are no joke. Who knows where I’d be without Hermione?”

The tension was cut abruptly by Mr. Filch, who barged loudly into the center of the room, dragging Malfoy behind him. The music stopped. Hermione’s eyes searched the room for Harry. He was standing with Professor Snape and Professor Slughorn as Mr. Filch and Malfoy approached. A feeling of unease over came her. She generally got that sort of feeling when one of the boys was about to do something reckless. She didn’t have time to worry about that, she reminded herself. Seeing their opportunity to escape, she muttered something to Neville, excusing themselves and pulling Dean away.

After Malfoy’s gatecrash, the party began to slowly dwindle. Hermione and Dean decided it was probably time for them to take their leave, as well. They both had to be up in the morning to finish packing and catch the train home for the holidays. They bid Luna goodnight, but didn’t find Harry with her. She now felt sure he was up to something.

“You want to walk back with us?” Dean asked Luna.

“No, I’m alright. I think I’ll wait here for Harry.”

On their way back, Dean inquired as to whether Hermione was hungry because she hadn’t eaten anything at the party. She tried to explain to Dean the importance of house-elf rights. The only food on offer at the party had been on silver platters carried by the Hogwarts house-elves. To her surprise, he listened and seemed to agree with her. Before she could press further and tell him about S.P.E.W., they made it back to the common room.

It was mostly empty, with a few pockets of students huddled around the fire.

“You did really well tonight, Granger,” Dean said in a low tone so that they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Are you sure?” she asked. She wanted to do well at this, not only for Dean, but for herself. If she was going to take the time to do something, she wanted to do it right.

“Absolutely. Did you see how Gin was looking at us?”

“Yes,” she said with a sudden groan. “I don’t know, Dean. Who is going to believe you are actually interested in me? I saw the way you were looking at her, tonight. I mean, Merlin, who didn’t notice her?”

“Are we really going to have this conversation?” he asked exasperatedly. “Do you honestly think you’re not pretty?”

“I’m not searching for compliments! I’m just saying it doesn’t seem believable to me, logically speaking, that you’ve gone from dating Ginny who’s popular, has beautiful hair, and likes sports, to me, who is none of those things.”

He rolled his eyes. “You really are something else. Look, Gin’s gorgeous. But you’ve got more confidence. You don’t put all this effort into it. I told you how amazing you looked tonight, and I meant it.”

She avoided his gaze, feeling her face heat up once again. She really wasn’t looking for his pity or compliments. It wasn’t embarrassment that was making her blush, though. It was the fact that he wasn’t saying it out of pity. He actually was being genuine. She still thought he was off his rocker, though.

“Can we get back to celebrating this victory now?”

She glanced up at him. His eyebrows were raised expectantly. “Alright, yeah.”

He held his hand up for a high-five. “Operation ‘Secret Lovers’ is in full swing!”

“Ew gross, no. We’re not calling it that.” She wrinkled her nose but slapped his hand and laughed anyway.

“Fair enough.”

Hermione was in good spirits as she walked up the stairs to the dormitory. Maybe her being in a relationship with Dean Thomas wasn’t so unbelievable.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/2/to-all-the-wizards-the-party).


	5. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione heads home for the holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I was away last month and it's taken me awhile to get back into the swing of things. Thanks to everyone for all of the kind words while I was away! Get ready for more Deanmione :).

The next morning brought fresh snow. Having woken up early to finish packing, Hermione watched the sunrise glimmer off the undisturbed blanket of snow. Her mind was foggy from lack of sleep. After the party Lavender and Parvati, who had waited up for her, demanded details of the party, including but not limited to what every guest was wearing. They had interrogated her for over an hour before she was able to excuse herself to bed.

After all of her things were packed away in her trunk, she looked around the room to ensure there was nothing she was forgetting. Her tote and coat she left on her bed. The house-elves would only transport things left at the foot of their beds onto the train.

Satisfied everything was set, she headed down to breakfast. It was still early, but she needed a strong cup of coffee to clear her mind. The Great Hall was nearly empty. Even the head table where the staff generally took their meals was empty except for Professor Sprout, who always woke early to tend to the greenhouses.

The enchanted ceiling made it appear as if the soft flakes of snow were falling overhead, just as they were outside through the tall arched windows. Staring up at the gently falling snow, she sipped on her coffee (black just like she liked it), her mind wandering.

_“I told you how amazing you looked tonight, and I meant it.”_

These words had come to her mind repeatedly over the course of the morning. It embarrassed her to admit even to herself how flattered she was. She knew Dean had meant it in his own way because he was kind. But she also couldn’t shake the memory of his face when Ginny had entered the party. It was clear how affected he was. Had Ron ever looked at her like that?

 _Of course he hasn’t_ , she thought to herself, sighing. _And even if he had, those days are long gone now._

More students were slowly milling into the Great Hall. They carried with them a buzz of excitement, with the holidays now upon them. A distant bell chimed. Shaking her head she got up, pushing away her plate of cold eggs and toast, and looked at her watch. She would need to hurry if she was going to reach the common room in time to see Harry off.

By the time she had rounded the corner to the corridor leading to the common room, the Fat Lady’s portrait was already swinging open. She waited at the end of the corridor as Harry, Ginny, and Ron made their way over to her. As they approached, she could see that although Harry and Ginny had been out just as late as she had been, Ron looked much worse for wear.

“Sleep well?” Harry asked as they made their way down the next corridor. His voice was slightly raspy from a lack of sleep.

“Well enough. Got up early to finish packing. Lav and Parvati kept me up late talking about the party.” Hermione could feel Ron bristling from the other side of Harry, still apparently bitter about not being included in any of the Slug Club activities.

“Had to get my packing done last night so McGonagall could have it sent off to the Burrow,” Harry said stifling a yawn.

“Speaking of last night, where did you get off to? Dean and I went to say goodnight to you and Luna and couldn’t find you anywhere.” She glanced at him suspiciously.

He shrugged. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh don’t play thick. You disappeared pretty shortly after Mr. Filch and Malfoy showed up.”

This piqued Ron’s interest, making him forget that he had refused to speak in conversation with Hermione for the past month. “You didn’t tell me Malfoy was there.”

“You were asleep when I got back and you’ve been in a right mood all morning. When would I have had time to tell you?”

Ron merely grunted, now remembering that he was in a sour mood.

“Professor Slughorn was pretty disappointed that you and Dean left _so_ _early_ ,” said Ginny suddenly, looking at her coolly from beside Ron.

She instantly caught what Ginny was trying to suggest. Harry’s eyebrows flew up and Ron was scowling in her direction. Most couples probably would have taken the opportunity of having the express permission to be out past curfew to find a dark corner in the castle for themselves. Was she supposed to pretend that’s what they had done, too? Even if their relationship was real, that wasn’t really something she would do, even if _normal couples_ would have.

“It wasn’t _that_ early. We both just had a lot to get done before leaving for the holidays.”

Ginny shrugged and gave her a look that said “if you say so.” Ron stared ahead, seemingly unaffected but for his pink ears. Harry, for his part, looked very uncomfortable at the shift in conversation.

Nothing else was said on the matter as they reached Professor McGonagall’s office.  Professor McGonagall sat at her desk tidying some papers. She looked at them expectantly.

“I was under the impression that you would not be traveling to the Weasleys’ this holiday, Ms. Granger.”

“No, Professor. I’m just here to see everybody off.”

“Well do be quick, Ms. Granger, this fireplace is only open until 10 a.m.”

Hermione glanced at the clock hanging above Professor McGonagall’s desk. It was 15 til. She turned to Harry.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” He looked affronted. “I’m serious. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have plenty to deal with without you getting any ideas into your head regarding your _theories_.”

“Yes, because I’m going to discuss them over the dinner table.”

She ignored his sarcastic remark. “And do you have the scarf I made you? You really need to look into getting a new winter cloak over break, yours is too short in the arms.”

“Yes, _Mum_ , I’ve got it.” His voice sounded exasperated but he laughed and pulled her into a hug.

They pulled away and she turned to Ron. Standing there now, faced with spending their first Christmas apart in four years, it almost felt like their displeasure with each other had evaporated. His red hair was still messy, sticking up at odd angles from sleep. She felt a warmth in her stomach. Part of her longed to go back to the way they were before. As his cerulean eyes searched hers, she wondered if he was thinking the same.

She reached out and hugged him briefly. She breathed in the scent of him, fresh cotton and pine needles. He pulled away first and nodded at her, clearing his throat, an unreadable expression on his face.

Ginny had already moved towards the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. Hermione felt the slight, but felt proud the plan was working on Dean’s behalf.

“Go ahead, Ms. Weasley.” Professor McGonagall inclined her head.

Ginny shouted, “The Burrow!” and was engulfed in emerald green flames. Ron went next without looking again at Hermione. She tried not to feel saddened by this. Harry followed, grabbing a fistful of grey powder before stepping into the fireplace.

“Be sure to write!” Hermione said in a sudden rush.

“It’s two weeks, Hermione.” Then after seeing the insistence on her face he relented. “I’ll write!” Then he threw down the powder, shouting “The Burrow!” and was gone.

After seeing the three of them off, she decided to go ahead and grab the rest of her things and head down to the station. If she got there early she might be able to claim a compartment to herself. It took some time coaxing Crookshanks into his carrier. He was very stubborn about being carted around in such a container.

“I don’t look forward to carrying you all the way to the Hogsmeade station either, but it’s this or you walk the whole way in the snow yourself.”

He quickly settled himself into the carrier with that threat on the table. She shifted the tote bag on her shoulder with the books she planned on reading on the train and picked up the carrier in the other hand. Parvati and Lavender were nowhere to be found, so she left without any further good-byes.

It was beautiful outside. There wasn’t a cloud remaining from the early morning’s snow. Everything looked bright and clean. Fluffy tufts of snow clung to the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione’s breath caught on the air as she walked down the path towards Hogsmeade Village. Her Muggle puffy coat was almost too warm with the sun shining down so brightly.

She was doing her best to be excited for the holiday with her parents. It was the first in four years. It would be good for them. But there was a noticeable pang she felt imagining a Christmas without her friends. They had become as much a part of her family as her parents were to her. To spend it away from them worried her, especially with the news always bringing such ominous tidings.

Sighing, she conceded that still, it would be good to see her parents over the break to recharge. Plus, there were things she needed to take care of now that she was of age. The Ministry had sent out directives for everyone to put up basic protection charms on their homes, but being a Muggle-born meant having to wait until you were of age or hoping that a wizarding friend could spare the time to safely travel and do it for you.

Her footsteps crunched in the crisp snow. Most of the students walking to the train were walking in pairs or groups. She hadn’t seen Dean or Seamus all morning long and hadn’t tried to find them before heading to the station. With term being over, they wouldn’t have to pretend to be dating for the next two weeks. While it was nice having new friends, fake though it all may be, she was mostly relieved to have that pressure of performance removed.

“You’re a hard girl to pin down.”

Hermione whipped around to see Dean approaching. He smirked at her, which served to make his eyes sparkle in the sun like the snow around him. His hands were tucked away in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket. The collar of his jacket was lined with fleece and he wore spotless trainers. She had never noticed, but he was quite stylish by Muggle standards.

Now in front of her, she could see there was a slight shadow of stubble that lined his jaw. He subconsciously rubbed his jawline. “Erm, yeah I slept in and didn’t have time to shave.”

“It looks nice, actually,” she said, trying to make him feel less self-conscious but only making herself feel embarrassed in the process.

“Where were you at breakfast? Seamus was worried.”

She explained briefly that she had woken up early, trading the part about her seeing Harry and Ron off for her being in the library. The key to obscuring their whereabouts was for the students leaving to assume they had stayed for the break and students who had stayed to assume they left on the train.

“You weren’t even going to wait for us?”

“I sort of assumed we wouldn’t be riding together,” she said with a shrug. “Neither of our Weasleys are heading home on the train, so our two weeks off start now.”

“You can’t be serious,” he said, looking at her in bewilderment. “Seamus is going to be down in a bit. He’s going to think it’s weird.”

“I dunno. Just tell him I’m patrolling and sitting in the Prefect compartment.”

“Don’t make this weird, Granger. You’re sitting with us.”

His eyes were boring into hers, untying the knots in her resolve she had held tight. She bit her lip. “Alright alright.”

“Brilliant!”

She tried not to feel too happy about it. _We aren’t really friends. This is all based on a lie_ , she tried to remind herself. In spite of herself, she was a little pleased. Becoming friends, or whatever it was they were, had greatly improved her 6th year. Fighting with Ron had left her often without any other friends. Harry of course was still her friend, but he was splitting his time between the two of them. It had gotten quite lonely. If only she had made new friends without having to hold up the pretense of such a big lie.

By the time they reached the station, Seamus had caught up to them. As they boarded the train, they saw that there were several Aurors walking up and down the train, checking various compartments. To her surprise, Tonks was aboard. Her hair was still a mousy brown, but she had regained some color in her cheeks. She looked better than Hermione had seen her since Sirius’ death, and even gave Hermione a sly wink as they passed.

“I figured they would have done without the Aurors since Harry isn’t riding,” Seamus said as they sat down in an empty compartment.

“You-Know-Who’s followers are only terrorizing Harry, are they?” Dean said.

Hermione didn’t partake in this discussion, not wanting to dwell on the oncoming storm. After she released Crookshanks from his carrier, she reached into her bag and pulled out _Forget Me Not: the Metaphysical Structure of Memory Charms_ , intent on finishing the book. Reading, however, proved not to be as productive as she had hoped. The boys didn’t interrupt her, leaving her in peace with her book. That wasn’t the distraction. It was Dean, specifically. He had casually rested his hand on her thigh, like a boyfriend would to his girlfriend.

It always felt like he was working three steps ahead of her. She would get used to certain aspects of their relationship, and then he’d introduce something new. She tried to subtly move her leg out of his reach, but his hand merely moved with it. Her leg was tingling where his hand rested.

Resigned to this new development in their fake relationship, she tried her very best to ignore it. That was until they were laughing about something having to do with Quidditch. Unconsciously, Dean’s thumb began gently grazing her thigh. She snapped her book closed. The two stopped talking and turned to look at her.

“I’m going to go patrol,” she said, as nonchalantly as she could manage.

She shot up without waiting for their reaction and slid out of the compartment. Placing her hand on her chest, she could feel her heart hammering. She took a few deep breaths and looked around for a distraction, any distraction. A few Aurors still stood in the corridor. The rest had probably positioned themselves towards the back and front of the train. Aimlessly, she made her way down the train, trying to calm her nerves. She was beginning to wish she had more experience with boys. Maybe then not every fake interaction with Dean would come as such a surprise.

She thought fondly of her original plan that morning of having a compartment to herself, no fake-boyfriend in sight. Had she managed to evade Dean she wouldn’t be as flustered as she felt now.

 _Not flustered,_ she tried to correct herself, _just surprised._

Generally, the start of term train ride was much more chaotic. First and second years would be running up and down the train while older students were getting up to their own mischief. The ride back for the holidays was always a quieter affair. The prefects didn’t even have assigned patrols, but Dean and Seamus didn’t need to know that.

Feeling calmer, she turned to walk to the other end of the train, having reached the end of the compartments. She thought happily that she might even find Tonks and have a chat. The last time they had seen each other, Tonks was still nursing a broken heart over Sirius. Instead, she found herself approaching Ernie Macmillan, who was apparently also on patrol.

Ernie had definitely received his letter, she had already determined. Over the past couple of weeks, any time their paths crossed he would stick his nose in the air and turn in the other direction, even when they were heading to the same class. She didn’t think it was really in a Hufflepuff’s nature to hold grudges, but then again her note analyzing their compatibility had amounted mostly to thinly veiled insults.

When he caught sight of her now, he turned to head in the opposite direction.

“Ernie, wait!”

He hesitated before stopping, allowing her to catch up to him. His face was set in a scowl as he faced her with his arms crossed.

“So,” she said awkwardly. Now that she had him here she wasn’t sure what to say. “I guess we both decided to patrol the train at the same time.” She gave a half-hearted laugh.

“I guess so,” he said. He raised his finely groomed eyebrows, indicating for her to get on with whatever she was taking up his precious time for.

“Look, Ernie, I know you got my, erm, letter.” She faltered. They weren’t letters exactly, but at this point fighting that point hadn’t made a difference.

He sniffed a response, looking away from her and taking greater interest in the frosted glass of the compartment window next to them.

She sighed. “I just wanted to apologize if anything in it offended you. I was just trying to clear my head. It wasn’t ever supposed to get sent to you. It was an accident. So, I’m sorry,” she finished lamely.

“Is this because of the higher marks I received than you on that Charms test?”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about? The Charms test from _weeks_ ago?”

“I knew you were a competitive student, Hermione, but I would have thought sending mean notes was beneath you.” His nose was in the air again. She bristled.

“You didn’t receive higher marks than me on a Charms test, Ernie. Professor Flitwick offered to apply the points from the bonus questions directly to the test or convert them to house points.” She couldn’t believe she was having to defend one of her test scores to him. “You put yours towards the test and I put all of mine towards house points. I actually outscored you by 4 points on that test.”

Hermione really wasn’t actually that competitive with her classmates about school work, but she didn’t like it being suggested that she gave anything besides her best effort. She sniffed, offended by the insult. He glared back at her. This was not going at all how she had expected.

“It’s not like I’d have dated you anyway. I’m gay.” He looked triumphant, as if he really expected that to take the wind out of her sails. His admission hung over them for a moment before his grin slid off of his face, the realization of what he said dawning on him. “Erm, can you not tell anyone that? I’m not exactly ‘out’, as they say. Most people in Hufflepuff know, they’re good about it, but the rest of the houses...I’d just like to wait.”

She did feel slightly shocked by the revelation, but not offended in the least. She knew that kind of thing was taboo in the Muggle world, but had never heard of it spoken about in the wizarding world to really know. Her parents had never subscribed to any of that, they taught her that people loved who they loved.

“Of course. Good for you.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment before Ernie stuck his hand out. She took it and they shook. He smiled at her, any prior resentment now gone. Whatever had just transpired, she wasn’t going to question it. She was glad just glad whatever feud they had been in was behind them.

“You better watch it come end of term exams, though. I intend to get top marks.” His face was resolute.

She smiled, unsure if he was jesting. “Alright, I’ll be on the lookout.”

—

When she got back to the compartment, she found Dean and Seamus in a deep discussion. Dean looked up and stopped whatever he had been saying.

“The Trolley Witch came by, I got you some cauldron cakes,” he said, trying to play off whatever conversation they were just having. Hermione looked at the handful of sweets on the seat next to him, then to Crookshanks who seemed to have pinned a rogue chocolate frog in the corner by Seamus’ feet.

“It’s fine, she’ll figure it out eventually,” Seamus said waving him off.

“What’s this all about?” Hermione asked as she took her seat and grabbed a cake, taking care to leave some room this time between her and Dean.

“Seamus has plans for the new year.”

“You’re a girl, Hermione,” Seamus said. A faint memory of a certain red-head saying those same words to her floated through her mind. She pushed it away and her inclination to be offended by it. “If you liked someone who has no idea you exist, how would you go about getting their attention.”

“Mate, she knows you exist,” Dean said rolling his eyes.

“Yes, she knows I exist as a random guy in her year. She doesn’t know I’m a handsome single bloke.” Dean snorted at this. Seamus ignored him, turning his attention back to Hermione expectantly.

She glanced at Dean. He knew she was the most unqualified girl to go to for this advice. But to Seamus, she was his best friend’s girlfriend who must know something about romance. “Have you tried talking to her?”

He groaned and slouched in his seat, frustrated. “That’s what your boyfriend said. But Padma is always surrounded by her smart Ravenclaw friends.”

Her eyebrows shot up. Padma Patil was in Ravenclaw and was possibly one of the two prettiest girls in their year, the other being her sister.

“Don’t look too surprised. It’s not _that_ unbelievable.”

Hermione stifled a laugh. She didn’t think she had ever seen Seamus this wound up, outside of discussing Quidditch.

“My plan is to start sending her notes, like Dean does for you. Maybe start casual at first, throw in a little poetry. I dunno, should I do it daily?”

She wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “That’s a romantic gesture,” she started, glancing at Dean before turning away, feeling slightly red in the face, “But it’s an empty one if you don’t have the relationship to build on.”

“What did I tell you? Just try sitting next to her in class. Strike up a conversation.”

“Oh right, because she’s going to be real impressed when I blow up another goblet in Transfiguration.”

“You haven’t blown anything up all year!” Hermione said encouragingly.

Seamus glared at her.

“Do you really think I impressed Hermione with my stellar Arithmancy work? Of course not! I actually talked to her. If I hadn’t started talking to her in class she’d never have looked at me. Gotta take the first step, mate.”

Though she couldn’t tell if he was playing it up to support their story, she thought this was an unfair assessment of himself. Every girl noticed Dean. She was no exception.

With that, feeling he had made his point, Dean slung his arm around her, pulling her in closer. She giggled slightly, leaning into him, in what she hoped looked like the actions of a happy girlfriend.

“Alright, I get it. You got the girl.” Seamus sounded annoyed, but he was smiling at the two of them.

—

They arrived on the other side of the barrier and Hermione immediately spotted her parents. They must have driven to London straight from work, as they were both still in their work clothes and her mother’s hair was still in the wrap she generally wore to the office.

“That’s my parents,” she said indicating over to the pair standing a few yards away.

Seamus gave her a brief hug, grinning broadly. “See you next year!”

She smiled in return. “Yes, see you in ‘97!”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she turned to Dean. He took a step closer to her, smirking. She was suddenly very thankful she’d had the foresight to include _“No Kissing”_ in the contract, because she could see his eyes calculating his next move. He was aware, as she was, that this would generally be where couples kiss each other good-bye. Her parents were undoubtedly watching her and she had no plans on explaining to them that she had a boyfriend, fake or otherwise.

His gaze was intense and he was standing so close to her. Without taking his eyes off of her, he reached into the pocket of his bomber jacket and handed her a folded note. She took it from his hand, her fingers brushing his.

Before she could protest that it was their holiday break and, as such, he really didn’t have to give her a sketch, he smiled at her and said, “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

Looking at the way his dimples accentuated his smile, she couldn’t help smiling back. “Happy Christmas, Dean.”

He pulled her into a tight hug, resting his head on the top of her head. Unable to stop herself, she breathed in deeply. He smelled warm, like bergamot mixed with something deeper and earthier. It was nice. She hadn’t noticed it until now.

They pulled apart and Hermione couldn’t help smiling a little shyly. It was strange to think that, though they had kissed before, they had never hugged each other.

“See you.” He was still smiling at her.

“Yeah, see you.”

She tried to keep her face neutral as she pushed her cart over to her parents, ignoring the way her mother’s eyebrows were raised. Whatever she was thinking, she didn’t say. Mrs. Granger merely said, “No Harry and Ron, dear?” as she gave her a hug hello. Hermione didn’t answer her, instead turning to greet her father who didn’t notice anything amiss.

The drive from London to Reading wasn’t long, a little over an hour. Traffic was light and free moving. Hermione always felt a little disoriented coming back into the Muggle world. It felt almost foreign being in a car. Crookshanks stayed in his carrier. He hated car rides.

She watched as they passed Heathrow Airport, planes taking off and landing, carrying passengers to and from their holiday destinations. Everything was so routine coming back, while everything in her world – the wizarding world – was in chaos.

Her parents told her stories of the latest happenings at their respective dentist offices. They told her a story of Ms. Stewart, an elder at their church, whose niece had eloped with some Scottish boy. None of the immediate family had heard from her since. This gave Hermione a great sense of unease. Was young love or Death Eaters to blame for the sudden disappearance of this young Muggle woman? Muggles didn’t know to look at things with that sort of cynical skepticism that was becoming common in the wizarding world.

It was dusk by the time they pulled up to their house. Her parents lifted her trunk out of the boot and carried it in between them. She opened the door for them with the key she had dug out from her trunk earlier that morning. Her parents moved to carry it up the stairs to her room, but she stopped them.

“You can leave it. I’ll take it up in a moment.”

They looked like they were about to protest but she insisted. She leaned down and let Crookshanks out of his carrier. He stretched and bounded towards the stairs. Mr. and Mrs. Granger weren’t the biggest fans of Crookshanks, as he aggravated the former’s allergies and got cat hair all over the latter’s stockings. The feeling was mutual. Crookshanks did not like the Muggle world. He refused the cat food sold at Muggle supermarkets and generally didn’t leave Hermione’s room except to go out around the neighborhood in the evenings.

Without another word to her parents, she removed her wand from her bag and headed outside. The suburb of Emmer Green was still and all on their street was silent, except for the distant sound of cars. Christmas trees in windows and lights on houses shined onto the street below. Their neighborhood had always felt safe. When she was young, she and her parents would often go for evening strolls together. She looked around the yard, remembering the winter before she got her Hogwarts letter when she built a snowman that miraculously grew to be two heads taller than she was in an instant.

She sighed, checking twice to make sure she was alone, shrouded by the dim lighting, before turning her back to the house and lifting her wand into the air.

“ _Salvio Hexia, Protego Totalum, Cave Inimicum_.”

Methodically, she worked through the incantations she’d read about over the summer in preparation. She had been practicing the enchantments for months, knowing the importance of doing it properly. Once she had circled the entire property, she lowered her wand arm, which was now shaking from the exertion.

A breeze rippled across the yard, the dead grass crunching beneath her feet as she turned back to her house. The brown bricks stood there as warm and inviting as they ever were, unaware of the danger they were keeping out.

Looking around, she wondered if the enchantments would work. The air looked empty. There was a subtle crackle of magical energy, but nothing else that could assure her that her parents would be protected from dark wizards. There were other enchantments she still hadn’t had the time to master that would likely have to be arranged by the Order sometime soon. Remus might be able to do it if he was in between assignments.

“What about take-away, Hermione?” her mother called from the kitchen as she hung up her coat.

“Yes, that’s fine. I’m going to go unpack.”

Poking her head into the kitchen, she saw her father rummaging through their refrigerator and her mom sorting through the post. “Alright, dear. We’ll let you know when it’s here. Curry alright then?” If her parents were concerned with her behavior, they weren’t giving anything away.

She gave them a nod and headed up the stairs, levitating her trunk behind her. She passed the sitting room and was happy to see their family Christmas tree already up. The Christmas spirit had eluded her thus far with all of the things going on at Hogwarts and in the larger wizarding world.

Her room was the furthest from the upstairs landing. She pushed open the door, sighing in contentment. Setting her trunk in the middle of the floor, she ran to her bed and threw herself on the quilted floral bedspread.

Rolling over on her back, smiling, she called out, “Crookshanks!”

She propped herself on her elbows and looked expectantly at the window, his favorite spot. He poked his head out of the curtains, almost as if to check if she was alone before hopping onto the bed. With a meow, he plopped down beside her, rolling over.

Laughing, she scratched him on the belly. He rarely let her scratch him here, she got the impression he had decided he was too dignified for it. “Well somebody is in a good mood.”

He purred in response and got up to rub himself against her arm, back and forth.

“I should unpack. If you help me, you can have some of the treats I have left from the Magical Menagerie.”

The bribe didn’t work. Immediately disinterested, he was already sauntering over to the windowsill, to hop back to his perch.

“I don’t really feel like it either,” she sighed. Her mind drifted to Ron and Harry.

They had already been an entire day at the Burrow. She wondered if they had seen the twins. Did they go out and ride their brooms? Mrs. Weasley probably cooked up a big meal to welcome them all home. She wished she could write to them, to Ron even. All of the chaos of the wizarding world hadn’t made her want to run away from it all like it probably would for most sensible Muggle-borns. Maybe it was the Gryffindor in her, but it only made her want to cling to the wizarding world and her friends tighter. Spending time away now was more painful than ever.

There was also guilt there. To admit that would mean that the wizarding world was her home, which would be unfair to her parents and the life they spent — the life they had raised her in — in the Muggle world. She sighed, grabbing a pillow and throwing it on her face, groaning.

She thought of Dean. Did he feel any of this? He was Muggle-born and stood to lose just as much as she did. Maybe it was different for him, he had siblings at home, not just his parents keeping him anchored there.

Thinking of Dean reminded her of his note from earlier. She sat up and reached into her back-pocket. Unfolding it, she gasped.

This wasn’t like the other sketches he had given her. Most of the notes she had received featured a cartoon or a series of smaller sketches that were more like random doodles he had drawn throughout his day. This one was a full detailed sketch of Ron and Harry. Their heads were bent low over a wizard’s chess set. Ron, wearing a trademark Weasley jumper, had his chin in his hand, his face screwed up in concentration. Harry was reaching for a piece, light reflecting off of his glasses, wearing a smirk she recognized – he knew something Ron didn’t.

It was beautiful. It could have almost been a photograph if not for a few rough outlines left behind. She thought back to the night she and Dean had sat by the fire together. Hadn’t Ron and Harry been playing a game of chess that night? Was that what Dean had been sketching – her friends?

In the lower right-hand corner were his initials and _“Happy holidays.”_

She cleared her throat, trying to rid it of the mysterious lump that formed and called again to Crookshanks. “How about we spend the night reading a good book instead?”

—

The break was set to be a quiet one, unlike the ones spent at the Burrow or skiing with her parents. Hermione was glad for it. She woke late the next morning, clearly having exhausted herself from her travels.

She entered their small dining room to find her mum and dad already dressed, and sat at the table. Mrs. Granger had already removed her bonnet and fixed her hair, ready for the day. It was rare for her to see her mother in her bonnet past 8 a.m.

They were both drinking from their mugs – tea for her mother and coffee for her father. There was an assorted spread of pastries laid on the table, a typical Sunday breakfast in the Granger household.

“Good morning,” she said with a yawn.

“Good morning,” they said in unison, her father not looking up from the Muggle paper.

Wordlessly, she pointed her wand in the direction of the kitchen, summoning a mug and tea-bag. She reached for the kettle and paused, looking at their reactions. Her mother was faring better than her father, but they both looked shocked.

“Hermione!” her dad exclaimed, setting aside his paper in amazement.

Realization came over her; they had never seen her do magic with her wand. Since coming of age, she had been using it all the time, it was second nature now.

“Sorry! I think I told you both, wizards come of age at 17. I’m free to do magic whenever now. It’s technically not allowed in front of Muggles, but seeing how you are my parents, the law is a bit more vague as to whether it applies...” she trailed off.

“That sounds like big news. Of course, I’m sure you mentioned before,” her mum said. “We are very proud of you! Just excuse us if it takes us a bit to adjust.” She said the last bit with a laugh as she watched incredulously as Hermione lowered the mug and tea gently on the table.

She felt sheepish, a bit embarrassed for forgetting herself. “Erm, has the _Daily Prophet_ arrived?” Post by owl was something they were used to. Her mother often collected the newspaper, to which Hermione had a subscription, as well as the periodic letters from Harry, Ron, and Viktor that didn’t come directly to her bedroom window.

“Ah yes,” her mum said, getting up and disappearing into the kitchen. She returned with the _Prophet_ , as well as a letter. “This came as well,” she said, handing it to her.

She took both, setting the _Prophet_ on the table. “Is Hedwig still here?” she asked, assuming the letter had come from Harry.

“This was a different owl. I didn’t recognize it.” Her mother’s eyes appraised her knowingly. “It’s sitting out in the garden, waiting for a response I presume.”

Hermione looked down at the front of the letter. She knew the handwriting, and it wasn’t Harry or Viktor’s. Without another word, she tore open the letter and walked to the kitchen.

Dean was apparently truly committed to send her a sketch every day in the break. If they hadn’t drawn up a contract, she would have been touched by his dedication. Today’s edition was back to his usual series of little cartoons. She was a little disappointed. Seeing the level of talent he possessed had floored her, and she longed to see more.

Below the cartoon, he wrote asking for her phone number. This struck her. No boy had ever _asked_ for her number and definitely not a wizarding boy. She hesitated. She couldn’t really say no without being rude, but why would he need to call her?

Nevertheless, she summoned some parchment, pulled a pen out of one of the drawers, and wrote a quick note in reply with her number. She went out to the garden to find a brown tawny owl waiting. It hooted, happy to see it would soon be on its way home and out of the cold.

“Sorry I don’t have any owl treats,” she said as she tied the note to it’s leg. “I didn’t know Dean had an owl.” The owl merely hooted and took off once she was done.

When she was walked back into the dining room, she had the distinct sense that her parents had just been speaking about her. Judging from their faces, they had something they wanted to talk to her about. She sat back down and began pouring some water over her tea bag, waiting for them to speak. Her eyes fell on the _Daily Prophet_. It was folded, but she could make out a portion of Harry’s face and “Harry...Chosen...Dark Lord.” Had they seen this?

She looked up and they exchanged looks. Sighing, she braced herself for the questions that would undoubtedly follow. It was careless for her to leave the _Prophet_ on the table, knowing what the articles contained these days. For their safety, it would be better for them to know some portion of the truth about what had been going on at Hogwarts and in the broader wizarding world, anyway. They needed to be ready.

The smell of bergamot was now wafting up to her from her mug of earl grey tea. She thought of Dean and their hug. She took a deep breath fortifying herself. This would be a lot to explain but she was an adult, and she could do this. “I think we need to talk.”

“Yes, your father and I were just discussing that would be good for us to have a talk.” Her mother sounded relieved that she had broached the subject.  Before Hermione could respond, she continued, “Now that you’re a young woman, there are...situations we want you to be prepared for. We saw you with that boy at the station yesterday, and the letter today.”

“It’s none of our business,” her father cut in quickly, his hands raised in defense, “But as medical professionals, we would be remiss if we didn’t do our due diligence as parents to prepare you.”

“So, I was thinking on Monday I’d call up to the clinic to schedule you an appointment before the start of term.”

Hermione who had tried to take a sip of her tea, was now spluttering, thoughts of her intended conversation completely gone, startled by their insinuation. “M-medical professionals? You’re dentists! Dean and I – we’re not – he’s not!”

Her mother eyed her over her own mug, knowingly. “As your dad said, we’re not trying to weasel our way into your affairs, you don’t have to tell us anything. We just want to make sure you’re empowered to make whatever decisions you feel are right for you.”

She was horrified. “Dean and I aren’t dating!” They glanced doubtfully at each other again. “We’re _friends_ , Mum. Just friends.”

“Whatever the kids call it nowadays, it would still be good to visit the clinic. Your mother and I never worried about you. We know you have a good head on your shoulders.” He chuckled to himself. “Heck, your studies always held your attention more than any boy could. But like you yourself said, you’re a young adult now. Better to arm you now rather than—“

“I’m a _witch_!” Her voice was shrill, panicked at the thought of continuing this conversation any further. “We have our own sort of...” she was frantically searching for the right words, “Medical care! There’s potions a-and spells. I’m not, I repeat, _not_ dating anybody right now. And if I were, I promise I am plenty prepared.”

Pushing her nearly-full mug of tea away, she shot up from her seat. Her face was, no doubt, five shades darker than normal. Her parents had always been open and progressive, but this was too much. The horrifying image of sitting in the doctor’s office, explaining to the nurse that she needed Muggle contraception for her fake wizard boyfriend, swirled in her mind.

“We didn’t mean to pry. We just want to ensure—“

She cut off her dad again, “Not prying! No boyfriend to pry about!” She snatched up the _Prophet_ and a scone off the table and backed away to the doorway. “I appreciate your concern really, but it’s totally unnecessary. And I just remembered that I need to feed Crookshanks. I think I’ll just take my breakfast in my room.”

They nodded, looking concerned, but accepting the end of the conversation.

She bolted up to her room and rested her back on the door once it was closed. Guilt and humiliation swirled unpleasantly together in her stomach. Her parents were just striving for the open relationship they had always had, but she did not want them anywhere near her fake relationship. They wouldn’t understand and admitting to it would be too embarrassing. It was going to be a long two weeks.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/3/to-all-the-wizards-the-talk).


	6. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets Dean’s family.

The horror of the morning’s conversation lasted until the evening, when a fresh horror presented itself. Hermione was gathering her laundry for the wash when she heard the phone ring. Her bedroom telephone sat on her desk across the room. Her hands were full of laundry, so she left her parents pick it up. It had been years since any of the old neighborhood kids had tried to call.

“Hermione! Dean is on the phone for you!”

She froze. In the hysteria from the morning, she had forgotten that she had given Dean her number. This really wasn’t going to help her “ _We’re just friends”_ angle. She dropped the clothes in the middle of the floor and lunged for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Your mum sounds nice.”

“Uh, she is.” His voice surprised her. It sounded somehow deeper over the phone, more mature. It was almost unbelievable. Here she was, talking to a boy on the phone like a proper Muggle teenager. She began pacing around her room, the cord dragging behind her. “So, why did you need my number?”

“My mum wants to invite you to dinner sometime next week.”

Hermione balked. “What? Why?”

“Well I couldn’t hide that I had a girlfriend from her, could I? And I definitely couldn’t hide it from my sisters.”

“You _don’t_ have a girlfriend!”

Panic crawled up Hermione’s throat. She couldn’t lie to her parents, and admit she had suddenly got a boyfriend overnight, not after the scene she had made this morning. But she couldn’t sneak out of her house for dinner either.

She could hear his eye roll through the phone.

“I don’t even know where you live. I can’t Apparate yet and my parent’s fireplace isn’t connected to the Floo Network,” she said.

“Neither is mine.” _Right. He’s Muggle-born, like you._

It turned out he lived in London. That was only a 30 minute train journey from Reading Station. She could tell her parents she was spending the day at Diagon Alley and then meeting some friends for dinner. That wouldn’t be a total lie.

“To be honest with you Granger, I don’t think my mother means to be refused.”

She gulped. They weren’t really dating, she tried to remind herself. If his mum didn’t like her it wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Yet, she still felt the same drive she always did to have adults approve of her.

They set the date as Friday, the 27th. She really would have much preferred keeping their families out of it altogether but she couldn’t stress over it, so she did her best to put it out of her mind.

The next few days passed innocuously. The _Daily Prophet_ had been fairly quiet for the first time in months. Hermione suspected they might be suppressing news in order to maintain the morale in the country for Christmas. Based on the hints in Harry’s letter, beyond what he intimated about his new musings on Malfoy after the Slughorn Party mishap, the news on the ground was unchanged from what they had been hearing for months.

On Christmas Eve, Hermione and her mother were decorating Christmas cookies when the evening news reported on a missing dignitary who had disappeared Monday evening. Hermione knew the signs. She felt certain it wasn’t an accident and the perpetrators weren’t Muggle. Of course, she considered opening a dialogue about it with her parents, but she didn’t want to dampen the Christmas spirit that filled the Granger household.

Christmas came shining through her window early Wednesday. She stretched and yawned, looking out the window. There were a couple of children already outside in their coats, enjoying their new gifts, riding around on bikes and swinging play swords at each other.

Oddly perceptive to human activity as usual, Crookshanks sauntered over to her, rubbing himself against her legs, meowing as he walked.

“Happy Christmas to you, too Crookshanks.” She walked over to her rather full bookcase and stood on her tiptoes to grab a small loosely wrapped parcel of his favorite treats from the Magical Menagerie, setting it on the floor for him to unwrap.

Before pouncing on the package, he nuzzled his head against her. She laughed as she petted him, appreciating the exceptional show of affection.

When she headed downstairs, she found her parents were already up. “Happy Christmas, Hermione!” her father called from the kitchen.

As she walked past the kitchen, she looked in to see him decked out in his striped pajamas and a Santa cap, rummaging through the cupboards.

She grinned to herself, heading to the sitting room where she found her mother nursing a cup of tea. The house already smelled of the Christmas Day waffles that her family always ate. She gave her mum a hug and began sorting out the presents for her parents.

It was late morning by the time they finished unwrapping gifts. Empty, syrup laden plates sat discarded next to them. It was a treat to be able to eat in the sitting room, which was something her mother was quite particular about any other day of the year.

Hermione thought this might have been one of the best Christmas’ all around. Her dad had received a new set of golf clubs as a joint gift between “his two favorite ladies.” She bought her mum new perfume that both her parents immediately declared as “smelling divine.” Harry had bought her a new set of eagle feather quills. They were lovely and came in a leather case. To her surprise, Ron had also gotten her a gift. It was a tin full of her favorite wizard sweets, mainly Treacle Fudge. A classic Weasley emerald jumper with an orange cat knitted into the front came from Mrs. Weasley, with a container of nut brittle. She had bought the boys a gift each — a new Potion-making kit complete with a new set of vials for Harry, and simply some chocolate for Ron, though she still wasn’t convinced he deserved that much.

“Hermione, there’s one more parcel for you. It came this morning.”

Her mother passed her a delicately wrapped brown parcel and an envelope that had been set among the branches of the tree. Taking mental inventory of all the gifts she received, the only person she hadn’t gotten anything from was Viktor. They hadn’t discussed exchanging gifts, though. Hermione set aside the card and carefully opened the parcel. Inside the wrapping was a black velvet jewelry box. A flutter filled her stomach.

“Someone is trying to make a last minute bid for ‘Best Gift,’ aren’t they?” Mr. Granger said chuckling to himself.

She didn’t respond. Her mother’s eyes bored into her, her eyebrows raised knowingly. Slowly, she opened the box, avoiding her mother’s gaze. Laying in the satin lined box was a thin gold bolo bracelet with a small heart for the clasp. Her jaw dropped a little as she lifted it from the box. The bracelet glinted in the sunlight streaming through the sitting room window.

Astonished, Hermione’s eyes met Mrs. Granger’s shrewd ones. “I-I wasn’t expecting a gift like this.” It was the truth.

Her mind was racing. Who would have sent this to her? Surely not Viktor. He knew they were just friends, and to be frank, he had bought her a bracelet once last year that was nowhere near as tasteful.

Her thoughts drifted hopefully to Ron even though he couldn’t possibly have afforded such a gift. Logic reminded her that he had a girlfriend and that he was too proud to ever ask to borrow money from Harry or the twins. Her heart wasn’t listening to her head. Excitement fluttered in her stomach in spite of herself.

She ripped open the envelope that came with the gift.

_“I know this could never possibly equal one of my amazing sketches, but I hope the gift will suffice for today._

_Happy Christmas._

_Dean x”_

The excitement drained out of her and embarrassment took its place. Of course Ron hadn’t and wouldn’t have bought her a gift like this, she knew that. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she and Dean would exchange gifts. Why did he insist on actively keeping up the charade when they didn’t have to? Besides, it wasn’t really a gift if she was going to return it once the contract was fulfilled.

Silently, she placed the bracelet back in the velvet box and snapped it shut. She finally looked at her parents, who seemed somewhat amused, but they didn’t dare bring up any of their suspicions.

Suppressing an eyeroll she said, “Who’s ready to watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_?”

—

Friday came much quicker than Hermione imagined it could have. That morning Hermione tried to casually inform her parents of the day’s plans as she cleared the table from breakfast.

“I’m headed into town today. I have a few things to pick up at Diagon Alley before break is over,” she said as she flicked her wand, guiding the dirty dishes to the sink where they began to wash themselves.

Her parents were still not quite used to her doing magic freely around the house. They looked equal parts mystified and concerned.

“Just as well. Your mother and I have plans this afternoon and will be out. Shall we expect you for dinner?” Mr. Granger had heroically managed to converse without breaking eye contact as a washcloth flew by him and began to wipe down the table.

“Actually, no. I’ll be meeting friends for dinner. I’ll be back before late.”

While they hadn’t questioned Hermione any further since Sunday, her father in particular having mostly moved on, her mother was constantly giving Hermione _looks_. Even now she raised her eyebrows and made a “hmm” sound. Hermione was grateful there was no further prying as she managed to make it to the station with a container of brownies left over from their Christmas bake-a-thon, and with the bolo bracelet glinting from her wrist.

—

Diagon Alley was surprisingly empty, but she should have expected this. Signs and flyers were plastered throughout with sayings and notices like _“A wise wizard is a wary wizard”_ and _“By decree of the Ministry of Magic, Diagon Alley curfew is henceforth set at 9:00 p.m. No wizard shall be seen out of doors, after which a fine of 10 galleons shall be assessed.”_ A few menacing wanted posters of those wizards recently escaped from Azkaban dotted the shop windows as well.

Everything was rather quiet. The groups who did wander the street spoke in quiet whispers, huddled as they walked. Hermione pulled her coat closer to her.

She stopped at Gringotts to exchange the Muggle money her parents had given her for the rest of the school year. When she went to the apothecary to stock up on some potions ingredients, she had a thought to buy Harry some dried nettles, knowing he was running low, but thought better of it. The Prince surely had a section in his book about ingredient stock management, or maybe even ingredient substitution.

After finishing her shopping at Scribbulus Writing Instruments, she looked around the street deciding where to go next. Down the street, she could see Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ colorful storefront. That she could tell, it was busier than the rest of Diagon Alley. She wondered if she should visit. It might be nice to see Fred and George again. But it might be strange for her to go without Ron and Harry. Thinking of Ron reminded her of Lavender and she resolutely turned the other way.

Instead, she decided to finish her afternoon in Flourish and Blotts. The atmosphere of the store was much warmer and welcoming than outside on the street. She loved coming when she could in the off season. The shop was calmer, with more space to browse the shelves and linger if a book caught your eye. Losing herself in the shelves, she looked around for a couple of hours until she found a couple of new releases she hadn’t yet seen in the school library.

After she finalized her purchases, she left Diagon Alley. She hailed a cab, giving the cabbie the address she had written down on a scrap of paper.

“Not too far off. Be about 10 minutes, love.”

She thanked him and sat back, watching the grey of London pass them by.

They eventually pulled to a stop in front of a red brick attached house. It had a beautiful yard, much more so than the Grangers’ simple neat yard. There were colorful pots of plants that when in bloom, she assumed were just as full of color. It was clearly a home full of life.

Hermione paid the driver and got out with her bags. Once the driver pulled away she looked around for any passers-by. Seeing no one, she pulled out her wand and shrunk her shopping bag of purchases to fit nicely in her tote. She tucked her wand away in a pocket on the inside of her coat and walked through the gate and up the walkway.

The white door, as bright and inviting as it was intended to be, loomed ominously before her. She stood there nervously, shuffling from side to side on Dean’s front porch. Her hands were shaking as she tried to smooth her hair, which she was sure had turned frizzy in the cold rain. Why did they have to do this? Every time she thought she was getting used to their arrangement, they upped the ante.

“You can do this, Hermione. Adults like you.”

And besides, that was the whole thing – even if Dean’s mother didn’t like her, they weren’t really dating. Slightly steadier, she rang the bell. She could hear a lot of commotion on the other side. To her relief, it was Dean who opened the door.

He was wearing a maroon turtleneck, a grin on his face. The grin quickly vanished when he caught her nervous expression. He stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind him.

“What’s wrong? You look like you think you’re about to fail your N.E.W.T.s.” His brows were furrowed in concern as he looked at her.

“I’m just a little nervous. I’ve, erm, never done anything like this before.”

“You’ll be fine, my family is going to love you. Just be yourself.” He paused and then added, “Well, except the part where we aren’t really dating. Don’t be yourself in that.”

She laughed nervously and moved her hand to smooth her hair again.

“Stop that,” he said as he placed his fingers in her hair, lightly tousling it.

Startled, she moved to stop him. If it hadn’t frizzed up to twice it’s normal size yet, it had now.

“Stop flattening your hair. It looks nice when it’s curly and full. More you. I like it,” he said with an earnest smile.

Her stomach did a flip. He was complimenting her hair, not as Dean her pretend boyfriend, but as just Dean. Most people didn’t understand why she kept it so curly and “wild.” People often lamented that she didn’t slick it down with Sleakeazy’s every night, because it was “so pretty straightened.” Sheepishly, she tucked a curl behind her ear.

Catching sight of her wrist, he exclaimed, “You wore it!” He sounded genuinely pleased as he reached out to examine the bracelet dangling from her wrist.

“Actually yes, I wanted to speak with you about that,” she said as she pulled her arm out of his grasp, tugging her sleeve down. “You really didn’t have to get something this nice. We’ve only been _fake_ dating for a few weeks.”

He shrugged shoving his hands in his pockets. “It suits you.” She had figured he would brush her off, which is why she had come prepared.

“Well, on that note, before we go inside, I got you something, too,” she said as she pulled out the wrapped package from her bag.

She was satisfied to see that he looked surprised; he hadn’t expected her to reciprocate the gesture. He took the package, carefully unwrapping it. His eyes lit up as he held the gift up in the porch light. It was a soft leather-bound sketchbook. It had a slightly weathered look to it and was tied with a leather strap. With it, she had bought a magical set of sketch pencils.

“The pencils are charmed. What you draw should move on the page, sort of like a Muggle flip book.” Her voice trailed off. The confidence she had in the gift when she had purchased it was dissipating. Maybe it was a weird gift from a fake-girlfriend. Quickly, she added, “I figured you had used so much of your sketch paper giving me sketches each day, it was only fair.”

He didn’t say anything, instead pulling her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“It’s great, Hermione.”

Relieved, she laughed a little into his chest and hugged him back. They stayed that way for a moment, until a car rolled by, reminding them they were still outside on the porch. They pulled away.

“Come on, let’s get inside before they come looking for us.”

The entryway to Dean’s house was an explosion of color and activity. Photos of a younger Dean and all of his sisters lined the wall, interspersed with large paintings with vivid depictions of African people. Some paintings depicted children playing, others were of dozens of people, dancing in celebration. They were beautiful.

“Are those—“ she began to ask, breathlessly.

“Mine? No, I’m not that experimental with paint as a medium. Those are my mum’s.”

As he said this, she noticed the initials _“DW”_ in the lower right corners of the canvases. She knew his mother had a different last name than him, but hadn’t known she was an artist, too. In fact, Hermione had never considered what had inspired him to pursue art when there was no real outlet for that kind of creativity at Hogwarts.

He led her through the hall slowly, giving her time to look from painting to photo. He seemed to be in no rush to join everyone else, their muffled voices coming from behind the closed doors ahead. It felt almost nostalgic, passing by the photos. Dean and his sisters smiled, frozen in time with various missing teeth, unlike wizarding photos that would have moved within their frame. There was a particular photo of a woman with a large, tangerine colored head wrap and a stout light-skinned man in a Royal Navy uniform.

“That’s my step-dad,” Dean explained without prompting. “I don’t see him much. He’s stationed overseas, and doesn’t come home much. Last time he came home, I was at Hogwarts.”

She tore her eyes from the photos to look at his face. There was a slight frown in his face but nothing to betray any great upset.

Before she could give any sort of response, a door to the right swung open. The smell of garlic and sizzling meats wafted into the hallway. A woman followed by a younger girl emerged from the doorway. The woman was tall and darker complected than Dean, but had his same dimples. Her hair was tightly coiled and long, growing out in all directions. She wore a yellow and orange kaftan that appeared to make her glow. Dean’s mother looked much different than Hermione’s, who preferred a muted palette of trousers and jumpers.

“Hermione, this is my mum, Dana Williams. Mum, this is my girlfriend Hermione.”

Despite knowing it was coming, Hermione’s cheeks colored at being called his “girlfriend.” She had never heard him or any boy introduce her as such.

“Hello, Ms. Williams. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking her hand.

“And this is my youngest sister, Emilia.”

Emilia’s face lit up with a smile full of wires. She had rainbow colored bands on her braces, giving the smile even more character. Hermione smiled back.

“It’s nice to meet you Emilia,” she said shaking her small hand. “You know, I used to have braces, too. But I always picked boring plain bands. Your rainbow pattern is much cooler!”

Emilia giggled and said a quiet thank you.

“I brought brownies,” Hermione said, suddenly remembering, shuffling the container out from her bag. As she handed them to Ms. Williams, she noted and felt proud that the heating charm had held.

“What a dear! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. We’ve heard so much about you.” At this, she gave her son a knowing glance. “I’ll set these in the kitchen. Dinner should be ready in about 15 minutes.”

There was no time to celebrate her passing her first test. Dean took her hand and led her around the house, to introduce her to the rest of his sisters – Cecily, 10, Sofia and Julia, 12, and Alice, 14.

They approached the first open doorway on the staircase landing, to find two girls deeply engrossed in their respective books, reclined in a couple of blue and purple bean bag chairs. Sofia and Julia were twins who were very unlike Fred and George. In fact, they reminded Hermione of herself at their age. Their hair was tight and coily, like their mother’s, but not nearly as long, with differing headbands to keep their hair out of their face. When Dean introduced her, they merely nodded to them in greeting before turning their wire rimmed glasses back to their books.

The second room was much different. It was bright pink, with various pictures of horses hung throughout. They found Alice helping Cecily paint her toenails. Cecily excitedly introduced herself, exclaiming that she was happy that her brother had found a new friend, but Alice merely looked at her. Hermione thought it was a good sign, when Alice’s eyes glanced down at her bracelet, looking satisfied.

Soon after introductions were made, they were called to dinner. The dining room, was just as vibrant as the rest of the house. The walls were lemon yellow, and more artwork hung on them. She thought that Luna would very much enjoy visiting this house.

In the center of the table was a big blue dish of bowtie pasta with a white-wine sauce, capers, and Italian sausage. There was a basket of buttery warm rolls and a large bowl of salad. Everything tasted just as good as it looked. Even the Italian dressing for the salad tasted homemade.

They discussed their respective Christmases. They told her about the call they had from Dean’s step-dad, Jarold, on Christmas. It was a happy piece of conversation, Hermione was surprised to find. She couldn’t imagine being forced apart from her dad, at such a young age, for such an extended period of time.

The conversation eventually turned from Christmas to Hogwarts. There were a lot of questions about daily life there, which she figured was natural. She must have been only the second or third Hogwarts student they had met, if they had never met Seamus. Discussing school made her shift in her seat uncomfortably. They were skirting so close to the root of their lie.  No details regarding how they started dating came up, thankfully.

Instead, the questions took a turn, inquiring about wizarding culture at school specifically.  

“How do your parents handle sending you off to such a unique school year after year?” Dean gave his mother a reproachful look, as if he understood some secret meaning to this question that Hermione did not. “They are non-magical like us?”

“Erm, non-magical, yes,” she glanced around the table, unsure if they knew of the word ‘Muggle.’ “I imagine it was hard for them at first, I am an only child. But for the most part my parents are just happy that I’m happy and have managed to make friends, I suppose.”

She brought her glass to her lips, hiding the awkwardness the last point made her feel. Not many people knew, although they could have probably guessed, that Ron and Harry were the first proper friends she ever had. Her childhood had been quite lonely, with only her adult parents and books for friends.

“I’m proud to have a wizard for a son, but I do think it’s quite presumptuous that these people show up on our doorsteps and expect us to hand over our kids to a school we have never heard about!” She lowered her voice, as if she were now divulging a secret, “Mind you, I was still reeling from the revelation that he was a wizard.”

Looking around, she saw the younger of the siblings were picking at their food, uninterested in the conversation, but judging by Dean and Alice’s reaction, this was not a new conversation for their family. She wished she had more to offer. While she was sure her parents had had their concerns and doubts when Professor McGonagall had shown up at their doorstep, she felt they were mainly relieved.

“Professor McGonagall was who came to my house.” She looked at Dean who nodded, confirming the same was true for him. “When I was a kid, a lot of very strange, unexplainable things kept happening to me. I think my parents were just happy to finally have an explanation.”

Ms. Williams conceded, “That is true. While I was surprised to find out he was a wizard, it also made sense. He always had such a strong creative energy as a kid.” She smiled fondly at Dean, who seemed to be groaning internally. “But they left so much unanswered. What about the children born into wizarding families? I’ve done my best to prepare him for the prejudices of this world, but what do they look like in a culture I’ve never seen?”

Hermione didn’t respond immediately, worried about saying the wrong thing. Dean broke in instead.

“Mum, I’ve told you it’s different, you don’t have to worry. In wizarding culture, race doesn’t come up like that.”

His mother shook her head, waving her hand dismissively at Dean. “I just can’t see how that’s possible. And I can’t be the only one who questions it.”

“You’re not wrong, Ms. Williams,” Hermione said. Dean’s eyes snapped to her, surprised. “I don’t think anyone could argue the wizarding world is a utopia. Adversity exists everywhere for certain communities...it just might look different in different places.”

Becoming fixated with the remaining leaves of salad on her plate, Hermione averted her eyes. She didn’t dare say more. Harry had told her last year that Dean hadn’t told his family about Voldemort’s return. She imagined there was a lot he omitted for their mental well-being. She knew what that was like and didn’t want to bring discord where there needn’t be any.

Ms. William’s sigh drew Hermione’s attention. She was eyeing her appreciatively. “I suppose you’re right. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders.”

Suddenly, Sofia spoke. “Is it true that you’re the smartest witch of your age?”

“Yeah! Can you show us some cool magic, unlike Brother?” Julia added quickly.

Dean cried in protest and Hermione laughed, happy to have the heaviness of the previous conversation lifted.

Dinner continued on much more lighthearted subjects and stayed far away from the society of the wizarding world. They retired to the sitting room (with walls of deep plum) for dessert. The girls quizzed Hermione on the different types of spells and magic over brownies and ice-cream.

“Could you turn me into a pig?” Emilia asked, jumping up and down in circles with Cecily, face sticky with chocolate.

Hermione laughed. “Technically, yes.”

Julia and Sofia, who were rolling their eyes at their little sisters’ antics, snapped their attention to her, surprised by her affirmative response. “Really?” they said in unison.

“It would be illegal, since you all are non-magical. But as far as ability goes, sure.”

The younger two were cackling. “If we write to you over the summer when Brother is being mean, can we get you to turn him into a pig?” Cecily asked.

They were all now laughing. “I dunno,” Hermione said through laughter, looking at Dean who sat in a corner with Alice, “Don’t you think he’s too handsome to be turned into a pig?”

“Blech! No!” Sofia exclaimed.

“You can turn him into a pig, it’s fine.” Julia said very resolutely.

The girls began excitedly discussing the possibilities. “If not a pig, what about a cat like the brother from that Halloween Disney movie?” Hermione found herself watching Dean and Alice out of the corner of her eye. They glanced at her a few times. She hoped that Alice’s smile meant that she had gotten the final seal of approval.

The evening drew to an end quicker than Hermione had expected. Surprisingly, she found that she had honestly enjoyed herself. Sofia and Julia were excited to discuss literature with her. She had to admit that they were better readers than even she was at their age. Alice didn’t speak to her much for the rest of the evening after she and Dean had rejoined the group, but she did smile warmly when they made eye contact. The two youngest insisted she come back and play dolls with them. It was already 9 p.m. when Hermione lamented that she should probably call a cab.

“Oh nonsense, at this hour?” Ms. Williams said as she entered the sitting room. “Dean can drive you to the station.”

Hermione looked at Dean in surprise. Learning to drive took a lot of practice and dedication. Not to mention, the whole thing was incredibly nerve-wracking. Hermione had never found time to take the test, much less practice, since she spent so much of her summers away at the Weasleys’. She was impressed.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Don’t be silly. I won’t let my son get away with not making sure his date gets home safely.” Her smirk told Hermione she was just saying it to rile Dean up.

With that, Hermione found herself being let into the passenger side of a new Toyota Camry by Dean, with a Tupperware container of pasta to-go for good measure. Dean got in and rolled down the window, waving to his mother. Hermione shouted one last “Thank you!” across him as they pulled out and took off down the street.

At first they drove in mostly silence. A warm glow had descended over Hermione, and she didn’t think it was the after effects of dessert. That she could tell, Dean’s family had really truly liked her. And she had liked them. With a pang, she realized that she likely wouldn’t see them again after they fulfilled the contract.

“They really liked you,” Dean said, breaking the relaxed silence. He looked pleased. “Congrats, Granger.”

“Really? You think so?” She said in a rush, excited to have her feelings confirmed. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, she felt the remaining stress leave her shoulders.

“Definitely. I’ve never properly brought a girlfriend over before. Alice would have been the hardest to crack. Wearing the bracelet we picked out for you really sealed the deal.”

“Your sister helped pick it out?”

“Yeah,” he said. “She kind of insisted. She was worried I’d blow it.”

They both laughed.

“Well she can rest assured, the bracelet is lovely,” she said, holding her wrist up so that the passing street lights illuminated it in shifts. “I’ll be sorry to give it back.”

Dean smiled at her. Seeing him smile was contagious, Hermione always found herself grinning back. The dimples in his cheeks and the light in his eyes ensured it was catching.

His expression shifted as a thought seemed to come to him, his smile faltering as he turned his attention back to the road.

“Sorry about my mum,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He took a moment before speaking. His right hand was slung over the steering wheel, and the other rested on the gear shift. But for his clenched jaw, he looked relaxed, like driving was a force of habit. He seemed so mature in that moment, and here she was, the kid who couldn’t drive.

“About all the race and culture stuff,” he finally said. “My grandparents are American so they raised her to always think of things in those terms.”

Was he really embarrassed? He was defensive, posturing maybe, but she didn’t see any sincerity in it. It was true that these things weren’t really discussed in such stark terms at Hogwarts, or in the wizarding world at all for that matter. But she certainly didn’t disagree with his mother.

“The wizarding world isn’t free of those prejudices any more than the Muggle world. I think we just don’t notice the small instances that occur because we’re so focused on everything we face as Muggle-borns.”

Dean didn’t respond, lost in thought. Hermione turned her attention to the passing buildings. It was misty again. She shivered, wishing she had brought her gloves. Without a word, Dean turned up the heat.

The car came to a stop at a light. He reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. The red glow from the light reflected on their faces, which thankfully hid the blush that once again threatened to overtake hers. He gave her a small smile, shyer this time.

“Thanks for coming. Really. I know you weren’t looking forward to it. My family is just really close.” He brought his hand off the steering wheel and rubbed the back of his head. “It would have been too much to keep from them on top of everything else.”

The light turned green and he trailed off. She nodded in understanding because she did understand.

“Well, jokes on you,” she said, attempting to lighten the conversation. “They gave me express permission to turn you into a pig should you get out of line.”

He busted out in laughter and she joined him.

To Hermione’s surprise, once they reached the station, Dean got out with her.

“Give me a ring when you get home safely.” Before she could interrupt he added, “I don’t care how late it is. It’s the duty of a good boyfriend to make sure his lady gets home safe and sound.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose at being called his lady. This only made him laugh. He pulled her into another hug, rubbing her back in an attempt to warm her up. Even in the cold night air, his scent still enveloped her – warm like bergamot.

Once seated on the train, she leaned her head back on the seat, exhausted from the mental exertion. She thought of pulling out one of her new books, but they were still shrunken and may look too odd to the few Muggle passengers on the train. Her hands were still cold from the crisp night air. She shoved them into her coat pockets, pausing when she felt a folded piece of paper in one of them.

The train began moving as she pulled it out. It was one of Dean’s notes. She laughed incredulously to herself, drawing a few stares from the few late-night riders. The memory of their hug came back to her. He had snuck it into her pocket! A huge grin spread across her face as she unfolded it. It was an adorable sketch of Crookshanks, curled up in front of what she presumed was the common room fire. In the corner, there was a note, _“Thanks for everything, Dean x."_

_\--_

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/3/to-all-the-wizards-the-dinner).


	7. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Dean return to Hogwarts after Winter Break.

The rest of the break was spent quietly. Dean managed to continue sending Hermione a sketch every day, mostly just quick single cartoons. She imagined him to be busy enjoying his family, going out to the cinema, or staying in for game nights. The thought of them all going about their normal Muggle life made her smile. Sometimes she would send him a quick note back but generally Edison, the owl Dean had bought his family, didn’t wait.

The New Year brought torrents of freezing rain. Hermione mostly stayed in, reading and writing the occasional letter to Harry. She had gotten out once to go shopping with her mum for a few necessities – new undergarments, hair-care products, and Mrs. Granger had tried to tempt Hermione into buying more make-up.

That she could tell, the wizarding world was unchanged. No great upheavals had occurred. The Prophet was all she had to rely on, and seemed to her to be back to its general agenda. Despite enjoying her relaxing quiet time with her family and Crookshanks, she was getting antsy to be back amongst wizards, magic, and news.

On the day of her return to Hogwarts, the sun peeked bright as ever through her curtains. As Hermione did some final checks around her room before levitating her trunk down the stairs, Crookshanks in tow, she felt almost giddy. Of course, excitement wasn’t an unusual emotion for her upon her return to Hogwarts. But as she and her parents sped down the M40, thoughts of Hogwarts, meals in the Great Hall, Harry, and even Ron, made her feel that she couldn’t cross over to Platform 9 ¾ soon enough. Thoughts even of Dean seemed to give her stomach a flutter.

“Where did the time go?” her mother asked wistfully as they helped her unload her trunk and Crookshanks’ carrier from the car onto a cart.

“I am sorry we couldn’t spend more time with you dear. It feels like we never see our only daughter.” As he said this with a crack in his voice, her dad pulled her into a firm hug, perhaps to hide the mist in his eyes.

“Mum, Dad,” she said a little exasperatedly, pushing her father away, “Summer break will be here before you know it.”

Her mother gave her a doubtful look. Uncomfortably, Hermione shifted back and forth on her feet, the unacknowledged truth hanging between them. They both knew she would likely be home for a few weeks at most, before a letter would come from The Burrow inviting her to the Weasleys’, back into the wizarding world, for the rest of the summer — that is if she even came home at all.

As her mother pulled her into a tight hug she whispered into her ear, “If you need anything make sure to write. Encouragement for exams, more money, boy advice, you name it.” Her voice came out strained in a way that made Hermione suspect she was biting back tears.

They pulled away and Hermione gave her mother a comforting smile. Instead of feeling exasperated at her mother’s one last attempt to glean a little information of her truthfully non-existent love life, she was touched. What a relief it would be to just break down and tell her mum everything, from the embarrassing and confusing mess with Ron, to the situation she had gotten herself and Dean into. They’d cry, her mother would laugh at her daughter, relieved that they have a “normal” teenage daughter after all.

She wasn’t a “normal” teenager, though. Everyone had hiccups in their routine life, social and otherwise, but it didn’t mean it had to define her. Besides, she didn’t need to cry to her mother. She was feeling surer of herself since Christmas break than she had all of the previous semester. In fact, she had only thought of Ron a few times over the last week.

“Well, I’d better be off then so you don’t miss tea with Ms. Stewart.”’

They gave her quick nods, her mother choosing to look somewhere distant over Hermione’s shoulder, leaving Hermione to suspect that she was still holding back tears.

Appearing on the other side of the wall to Platform 9 ¾, Hermione was unsurprised to find that it wasn’t very crowded. Groups of wizarding parents, who stuck out with their poor attempts at Muggle fashions, stood with their children going over final checks, ensuring they hadn’t forgotten anything. Being early was generally fine with her, but she now regretted it.

Dean and Seamus were nowhere to be found. It wasn’t that she was excited to sit with them per se, she just felt more ready to get on with their mission. Arriving early meant she was faced with the dilemma of either waiting outside the train for them or regularly poking her head out into the corridor so that they could find her.

Was that too eager? Maybe they wouldn’t even look for her at all. They were best friends, and it wasn’t like they were actually her friends. They would probably just find their own compartment to themselves, as friends do. It was probably best to leave them to it, and if they ran into her, great!

Levitating her trunk onto the train she contented herself with finding a quiet compartment towards the back of the train. She settled her trunk in the corner and set down Crookshanks, letting him out of his carrier. It was almost as if he could sense the magic in the air, he was completely back to himself. Still, she was hoping his surly countenance might keep anyone else from joining her.

Busying herself with the extra knitting she’d brought along to pass the time, she let her mind wander. The train got progressively noisier as more students started to pile in. Crookshanks lay on the opposite bench, pawing at a ball of yarn that he had managed to claim from her bag. A part of her lamented not having found Dean and Seamus, but with the train set to depart in a few moments it looked like she might have a compartment to herself after all.

Then, as if sensing her satisfaction, the compartment door slid open. Luna stood there smiling as serenely as ever, her wavy blonde hair pulled into pigtails. She was wearing her signature radish shaped earrings and a violently orange baggy jumper. A pale pink skirt peeked out from beneath, leaving Hermione to wonder if she had been attempting to dress as a Muggle or if this was something she actually kept in her closet.

“Hello Hermione!” she said brightly.

Not responding, Hermione turned to Crookshanks expectantly, waiting for him to hiss or at least stare at their new visitor uncomfortably until she left. Rather than do any of this, he instead hopped down from the bench and began meowing at her. He was practically inviting her in, the traitor!

Sighing, she accepted her new compartment companion and said as politely as she could manage, “Hello Luna.” Grumpily, Hermione turned to stare out the window, knitting abandoned in her lap. Now she really regretted not finding Dean and Seamus. She and Luna said nothing to each other as the train jolted forward.

Hermione resumed her knitting, trying her best to focus, nodding as Luna chatted to her about going with her father to Wales for an interview. She had hoped there was a recent edition of the Quibbler that Luna might pass the time with, so they wouldn’t have to chat. Luna was kind and actually a talented dueler, but her outlandish theories and conversations drove Hermione mad. When possible, she did her best not to find herself alone in conversation with her.

“Did you eat your dirigible plums for the New Year?”

Internalizing a groan, Hermione looked up. Her traitor cat was curled up next to Luna, letting her pet him lightly along his back. Stifling an eye roll she said, “Erm, no. My parents are Muggle. They were out at a benefit so I didn’t really do anything for New Year’s Eve.”

“It’s a shame you had to miss out. As they say, ‘Dirigible plums in a stew will help you see the world anew!’”

It was a strain to keep her face neutral. Ron often complained about her judgmental “know-it-all” look. Not wanting to be rude, she managed to give her a polite smile before turning to Crookshanks and fixing him with a cold stare as he snoozed next to Luna. They weren’t often at odds over an opinion of a person.

The trip drug on for longer than Hermione thought possible. Trying to listen to Luna’s stories and inquiries politely and passively was too great a challenge for her. She had gotten up to feign a prefect patrol three times. Luna had wanted to go over, in detail, newfound evidence that had come out proving that Minister Scrimgeour was a vampire. Upon arrival to Hogsmeade station, Hermione nearly ran off the train.

With a huff, she hopped down onto the platform. She shouldered her bag and took a peek at Crookshanks in his carrier. He seemed downright pleased with his new friend and to be back at Hogwarts.

“Traitor,” she murmured to him.

Eager to put distance between her and Luna, she made her way to the station exit. Her fingers, which were clasped around Crookshanks’ carrier, were quickly growing numb. Large banks of snow had been magically piled up to the side. As she exited the station, she found the snow banks were nearly up to her hips. She paused to put her gloves on. Setting Crookshanks’ carrier down, she looked up to the cloudy sky, hoping there wasn’t more snow in the forecast.

A pair of arms suddenly enveloped her from behind. She let out a yelp of surprise.

“How did you fair, surviving a whole week without me?”

She laughed and whipped around. “Dean!” His arms were still around her as she stared up at him. Her grin widened even further upon realizing that she wasn’t nervous in the slightest, unlike she might have been last term. “I could be asking you the same thing, you know.”

It was his turn to laugh. The fog of his breath caught in the air between them. He finally pulled her into a hug, the now familiar smell of bergamot surrounding her. He whispered into her ear, “I hope it was a good break, because we have a lot of work to do now that we’re back.”

When she pulled away she gave him a curt nod with a faux grim expression on her face to convey her understanding of the incredible gravity of the situation. This too, made him laugh.

“Alright, you jammy git. We get it, you have a girlfriend and you missed her.” Seamus pushed his way between them, looking annoyed at Dean. He turned to Hermione, “How are ye? Didn’t see you on the train. This one assumed you’d be busy with your prefect duties. Can you believe he doesn’t see me for two weeks and I barely get a ‘Hullo!’ but he sees you after one and acts as if he’s won the House Cup! Unbelievable.”

Not listening to Dean’s protests, Seamus picked up Crookshanks’ carrier and offered his arm to Hermione. Laughing, she took it and they walked together, leaving Dean behind, discussing their Christmases and their town’s respective lousy weather.

Hogwarts appeared ahead as they passed between the two winged boar statues guarding the entrance to the grounds. The sky was still grey, but even without the sun to reflect off of the paned windows, the castle seemed to wink down at them in the distance, welcoming them back. Hermione took a deep breath and smiled. She could feel her whole body relax, stress she hadn’t realized she had been carrying rolling off of her.

Dean was doing his best to engage Seamus in an enthusiastic explanation of a new television programme he’d seen over the holiday break, trying to get back into his friend’s good graces. Seamus mainly kept his attention ahead, sometimes responding to her rather than Dean. She could tell he was going to string Dean along a little while longer for not properly prioritizing his best friend.

To their left, the chimney to Hagrid’s hut billowed smoke. Hermione felt a bit guilty. She hadn’t managed to find time to say hello to her friend before leaving for the holidays. It was late in the afternoon and Harry and Ron wouldn’t be back till the early evening. She could visit him now.

Her mind made up, she piped up suddenly, “I’m going to Hagrid’s.” Dean and Seamus looked confused but she offered no further explanation. Most of the students, even their fellow Gryffindors who liked Hagrid, didn’t understand why she, Harry, and Ron liked him so well. “Will you take Crookshanks up to the common room for me?”

Bemused, they nodded. Without another word to them, she bounded off in the direction of Hagrid’s hut, eager to get out of the cold.

The gruff voice that came from behind the door after she had knocked told her he hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

“Just a mo’.”

She could hear the scraping of a chair and Fang moving excitedly behind the door. A bleary eyed Hagrid swung open the door. His wooly hair was a little matted to one side.

“Oh I’m sorry Hagrid. Were you sleeping?”

“Blimey Hermione! Thought yeh were Professor Dumbledore. Ah, is nuthin’. Just sat down fer a kip. Had ter get up early this mornin’ ter clear the paths fer you lot.” He indicated to the path to the gates, in which the Hogwarts Express passengers were still ambling up. “Come in, come in!”

He quickly ushered her into his one-room hut. There was a large fire burning in the hearth, warming the whole hut. Hermione pulled off her knitted cap and gloves, taking a seat at the table. She had to hop up in order to sit and her legs dangled down, feet not touching the ground, like they always had since first year.

“Tea?”

She nodded as he set a kettle over the fire. Fang padded his way toward her and set his head on her lap. His head was thick and heavy, taking up most of her lap. She laughed and patted his head.

“Did yeh have a good holiday?” he asked as he began washing out a couple of bucket-sized mugs.

Hermione could hear the accusation in his voice. She quickly apologized for not paying him a visit leading up to the holidays. Harry and Ron were always rather inconsistent with visiting Hagrid, but she tried to make her way down as often as she could. This whole situation with Dean and Ron had taken up so much of her time in December.

Hagrid forgave her. The tea was very bitter but, happy to be absolved of her guilt, she drank it happily.

They discussed the weather and their holidays. Hagrid and Professor Trelawney had apparently had a bit too much to drink over Christmas dinner and had quite loudly serenaded the Great Hall with their own particular stylings of Christmas carols. That was until Professor Flitwick had cast Silencio, which had been met with great cheer from everyone else trying to enjoy the festivities.

The conversation lapsed into silence. Hermione eyed the copy of the Daily Prophet laying under a few other papers on the table.

“The Daily Prophet proved to be useless again over the holidays,” she said with a sigh. “It seems to me like they were suppressing news. There were all sorts of disappearances on the Muggle news.”

“Can’ teach an ol’ dog new tricks. Times’re dark, an’ the Minister’s workin’ hard ter get people back on the Ministry’s side. Couldn’ have people frightened over the Christmas holidays, I s’pose.”

Hermione scoffed. “Yes. Meanwhile, they keep sending out these leaflets,” she held up a leaflet about home protection from the issue on the table, “and being a Muggle-born, I’m left to try and put up protective enchantments on my house by myself. I’m barely of age!”

“Come ter think of it, I think the Order might’ve mentioned something about getting protections in place for your family, ev’rythin’ considered. They’re a bit stretched at the mo’.”

She nodded in understanding. Of course, putting enchantments on a house in Muggle Reading that weren’t certain to be necessary wouldn’t be at the top of the Order’s priority list. But, she knew this was going to be a concern eventually as Harry’s best friend, even if they hadn’t yet considered the full implications of that fact.

Pulling her out of this deep reverie, Hagrid said, “Heard yeh’ve been seein’ tha’ Dean fellow. Good kid from the looks o’ ‘im.”

She sloshed a bit of tea onto her front as she moved to take a drink. “Ah yes,” she said, spluttering as she coughed. “You heard about that. It’s a bit embarrassing really. I didn’t expect it to garner so much attention.”

“O’ course ev’ryone is interested. They were las’ time, mind.”

“Everyone was interested in that salacious fake story Rita slapped onto paper because Harry and Viktor were both famous. And besides, that was years ago.”

“After the incident at the Ministry yer a spot famous yerself. Ev’ryone knows Hermione Jean Granger now.”

If the subject of Dean had made her blush, now her face was burning. She turned her attention to Fang, who had dropped a large slimy bit of rope in her lap, intent on being played with. As she feigned trying to tug it away from his mouth she replied indignantly, “That was just because of some creative reporting on the Prophet’s part. I was unconscious for most of it.”

Thinking about the Ministry made her uncomfortable. Partly because most students at Hogwarts had the complete wrong idea or just wanted information about Harry Potter, the Chosen One. Mainly though, she felt this sort of vague sense of fear when she thought about it. The events themselves were very hazy to her. Escaping the Prophecy Room was the last thing she remembered clearly. After that, it was just a veil and fear.

“Not ter the people who don’ know yeh. The Prophet, fer better or worse, is still most folk’s standard fer news. Yer becomin’ famous in yer own right.”

—

It was approaching dusk by the time she left Hagrid’s. She kept pondering the idea of becoming “famous in her own right.” What did that mean? It was true that amongst the Daily Prophet’s extensive coverage of the incident at the Ministry (most of which was grossly exaggerated or misrepresented) they had written up a couple of small profiles on her and the others to accompany their think pieces and reports on the matter. “Hermione Jean Granger – Bravery, Brains, and Beauty” in particular had been irksome. It relied on information from a source close to Hermione, whom she suspected was none other than Rita Skeeter.

The unsubstantiated speculation from a newspaper about her role among a dozen others hardly constituted “fame” though. It barely constituted any marked interest from anyone at the school who knew her. She hugged her coat closer to her. It had started to snow again.

Although she had attempted to eat a few of the rock cakes Hagrid had offered her, she decided upon reaching the entrance hall to head to dinner. Harry and Ron should be back soon, and she could meet up with Dean and Seamus. Seamus had requested that she look over his Transfiguration essay, which was due Tuesday.

The Great Hall was full of students chatting merrily over potato soup, fish and chips, and other delicious smelling dishes, catching up after winter break. She quickly spotted Dean and Seamus, the latter enthusiastically waving to her to join them. She waved and began to head towards the Gryffindor table, when she ran headlong into none other than Professor Dumbledore. She let out an exclamation of surprise, followed by her immediate apology. He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling from behind his half-moon spectacles.

“Ah, Miss Granger. What a happy accident.”

“Good evening, Professor,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, considering she had just crashed into him in front of the entire Great Hall. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dean and Seamus craning their necks to see what was going on.

“Would you please pass this note to Harry?” He handed her a small roll of parchment. As he did so, she caught sight of his other withered hand peeking out from the arm of his royal purple traveling cloak. This was the first time she had seen it up close, and it looked far more grisly an injury than Harry had described. “I believe he’s just arrived but I have some business in the village I must attend to.”

He conspicuously tucked his withered hand behind his back, and she brought her wide eyes to look at him. She stammered, “Erm, certainly Professor!” He didn’t show any other signs of being perturbed by her tactless gaze. She dropped her eyes to the floor, looking instead at the gold tipped riding boots peeking out beneath the hem of his cloak.

“Excellent! I do beg your pardon, but I must be off.”

With what she could have sworn was a wink and a swish of his cloak he was gone. It took a moment before what he had said sunk in. Her friends were back. Looking over to Dean and Seamus, who were looking at her curiously, she mouthed, “Sorry,” and turned on her heel, out of the Great Hall.

In her excitement, she nearly ran into Harry and Ron upon entering the portrait hole.

“Harry!” She said slightly breathless. “Where’s Ginny?” she asked looking around, having expected to see the three of them.

“She said she wanted to meet up with her friends in the Great Hall first,” said Ron.

“Well I got back a few hours ago. Just got back from visiting Hagrid. Professor Dumbledore wanted me to give you this.” She handed Harry the note and then looked at Ron. There was no blush creeping across her cheeks like there might generally have been. However, it wasn’t lost on her that this was the first time he had directly addressed her on purpose in months.

Before anything else could be said, a high pitched voice called from across the common room, “Won-Won!”

Ron grimaced. It was more than his usual grimace. His shoulders dropped and his face darkened. Hermione tore her gaze from him and back to Harry as Lavender ran to him, attacking him with a hug and dragging him away without a word to her or Harry. Right. They’re still together. Nothing’s changed. He hasn’t apologized, she reminded herself.

“Come on!” Harry said, sparing their friend no further thought. “I have loads to tell you.”

They had settled at a quiet table in the corner of the common room, thankfully far from Lavender and Ron, who had immediately attached themselves at the mouth. While she did feel more fortified against the visual onslaught of Lavender and Ron than she usually might have, she still didn’t fancy enduring it if she didn’t have to.

“Is that the news that was so important you had to tell me?” Hermione asked, exasperated, after spending the last half hour debating whether or not Professor Snape, a known Order member, was helping Draco Malfoy with some dark plan for Voldemort.

“Yes,” he said defensively, irritated by her apparent lack of enthusiasm in the mystery. “Well that and I was propositioned by the Minister.”

“I’m sorry?” she said incredulously.

“Yeah. We got into a bit of a row.”

As he explained the details of the argument, she couldn’t help but feel irritated at his lack of concern over this, an actually important matter.

“You can’t just get into rows with the Minister of Magic!” she said swatting at him with each syllable.

He blocked each swat with the cushion from the chair. “What else am I supposed to do, go along with it? ‘Sure thing, Minister. I believe it was the Ministry’s stance that I must not tell lies, but sure I’ll be your poster boy!’”

“Of course not. But I think you could be a little more careful. What if the Prophet had picked it up?”

“What, instead of running their crack-pot theories about me being the Chosen One? I think I’m–” He trailed off, his eyes suddenly catching sight of something towards the portrait hole. Turning to follow his gaze, she saw Ginny, returning from dinner. Harry’s eyes followed her all the way up the girl’s dormitory steps before he cleared his throat, continuing as if there had been no distraction. “Anyway. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t really a surprise, they’re panicked. And they should be!”

She nodded, not wanting to press further and also choosing not to comment on the red-head demanding so much of his attention mid-conversation. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she coughed, feigning ignorance. Without warning, Harry snatched her wrist and brought it up to his eyes for inspection. Realizing what he had noticed, she snatched it back, heat creeping back up her skin. It was too late, his eyebrows were raised behind his glasses and he had a smirk on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said airily, grabbing a random book off the side-table next to her seat. She feigned a sudden intense interest in Wizards Chess: Wins and Woes.

“I was just appreciating your nice gift.” His grin was almost devilish. He was so irksome sometimes. “Are you sure you two only just started dating?”

“It’s just a bracelet. Viktor got me a bracelet for my birthday last year.”

“I’ve never seen you wear that bracelet, plus I don’t imagine he knows anything about gold that doesn’t have wings attached to it.”

She glared at him. “Well then what did you get Ginny for Christmas?”

He spluttered, his face quickly turning as red as a Quaffle. “Erm, we don’t generally exchange gifts.” He looked down sheepishly, after surreptitiously glancing to the top of the girl’s dormitory staircase.

She sighed. It wasn’t as fun to tease him about Ginny as it was before. Now that Dean’s plan appeared to be working — or at least it had been before break — she wasn’t sure who Ginny had feelings for, and it made her feel guilty.

As if summoned by the thought, Dean entered the common room with Seamus. Dean was wearing a forest green jumper and had his hands tucked into his pockets. She wondered how many girls attention he had caught today, suspecting it had been a lot.

The two looked around mid-conversation, searching for a spot of their own. She smiled, feeling the solidarity, when she saw Dean notice Lavender, now in Ron’s lap, and grimace. He must have felt her gaze, because he looked over to her in that moment. For a split second he looked like he might come over, but glancing at Harry, seemed to think better of it. Instead he rolled his eyes and inclined his head at the bunch of limbs and movement that was Ron and Lavender in their armchair, as if to say “can you believe him?” She laughed.

Dean and Seamus eventually found their own spot with a couple of younger boys she knew to be Seamus’ friends. As the evening passed, Harry and Hermione finished catching up about Christmas, and the Weasleys. They had a grand time disparaging Percy for a while before Harry excused himself to go finish his Transfiguration essay (which Hermione knew to mean he was going to start his essay).

It was getting late, but Hermione didn’t feel tired. She made eye-contact with Dean who smiled at her before turning his attention back to Seamus and his friends. A thought occurred to her. The common room was still relatively full. This was her chance to make her move and play her part. Her newfound confidence surged through her and she smiled.

Not taking her eyes off of Dean, as he continued to listen attentively to Ciaran, a 5th year friend of Seamus’, she got up and walked deliberately across the common room. The three other boys didn’t look up when she dropped her bag at the foot of the couch. Dean looked up and motioned for her to sit next to him.

A little self-conscious, she looked over her shoulder. At that moment, Ginny was descending from the girl’s dormitory with some parchment and a quill, likely to send Mrs. Weasley a letter as she usually did once she returned to school. Ginny’s blue eyes met hers, and narrowed. A surge of boldness filled Hermione.

With a cheery grin, acting as naturally as she could, Hermione plopped down into Dean’s lap. She felt satisfied when he jumped in surprise. She looked into his slightly widened eyes and smiled innocently. His eyes looked at her questioningly. But she was sure. Accepting her move, he smirked at her, placing his left hand in her knee and resting his right behind her in the arm chair.

The group of boys didn’t notice anything amiss. Seamus rolled his eyes slightly at them before turning his attention to the others.

“What did your mum say when she’d found out where you’d been?” asked Sean, a 4th year boy she didn’t know particularly well.

“That if I ever snuck out to a Muggle pub again, she’d turn me into a sheep and sell me to Mr. Doyle, the farmer down the road,” Ciaran said with a mischievous smile. “If you lads are ever in the village, I’ll take you there myself. Best chips in all of Ireland.”

At the thought of hot, greasy chips, Hermione’s stomach gurgled. Dean turned his attention to her, eyebrow raised. Slyly, he poked her stomach. She pushed his hand away.

“Stop that,” she said.

He gave her side another poke, earning him a squeak from her. “Why didn’t you eat dinner?”

“I ate at Hagrid’s,” she said matter-of-factly. Another gurgle emitted from her stomach in protest. A few choked down bites of rock cakes did not constitute a meal. “And Dumbledore asked me to do something for him.” That mostly was true. He didn’t need to know how excited she had been to see two of her only friends, one of which she wasn’t even really talking to.

Dean looked at her suspiciously, before finally deciding to accept her explanation, but not before poking her one more time for good measure. The boys broke out into peels of laughter, pulling them back into the conversation.

“What’s brought this on, then?” Dean’s voice came in a surreptitious whisper, as the boys began setting up for a game of gobstones.

“Can’t a girlfriend sit with her boyfriend?” As she said this, she even batted her eyes for good measure.

“The thing is, ‘with’ and ‘on’ are two different things.” He looked at her with eyes that might have reduced other girls into a giggling heaps and tucked a curl behind her ear. Not her, though. This was a game, and now that she was playing properly, she was winning.

“True. But it looks like it’s working for them.”

In the corner, unmoved from their armchair, Lavender now poked and prodded at Ron, whose jaw was clenched as he stared off into space. Dean snorted. Then they both looked at Ginny, who was at a table by the windows, scribbling furiously on her parchment. Her neck was red, her temper’s first sign of warning.

Looking back at Hermione, he smiled brightly. “Looks like it’s working for us, too.”

—

The next day there was a buzz of excitement in the common room. Hermione stood in front of the notice board, reading the new notice thoughtfully.

“APPARITION LESSONS - If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve week course of Apparition Lessons. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons”

Hesitantly, she signed her name below Parvati’s. She had 12 Galleons to spare, but was apprehensive in learning. She had read that Apparition was quite unpleasant. Not to mention, it was a large responsibility. This was partly why she hadn’t learned to drive in the Muggle world.

Sighing, she backed away from the notice board.

“Good morning!” she said cheerily to Harry as he and Ron walked up to read the notice. She had no intention of speaking to Ron directly until he apologized, but had decided she could be civil while he was around.

Before they could respond, a pair of hands came to cover Ron’s eyes. “Guess who, Won-Won?”

Unable to keep a straight face, and barely able to repress the snort that threatened to crawl out of her mouth, she stalked off. It wasn’t fair to Lavender how laughable she found their relationship. She knew her roommate deserved better, but at the same time felt Ron brought all of this onto himself.

“I really wish she didn’t have to be around all the time,” Harry said, after catching up with her as she exited the portrait hole.

Ron, to both of their surprise, caught up with them before she could say that it wasn’t Lavender’s fault she liked Ron so much. Ron’s ears were bright red and his lips were pursed with frustration. To her relief, she spotted Dean up ahead. Not wanting to hear Ron berate Lavender when it was him being idiotic, she sped forward, leaving them behind.

“So – Apparition,” she said once she caught up with Dean.

“I’m excited, you?” he said, taking her book bag from her. She had forgotten that he had taken to carrying it for her.

“Erm, nervous. I’m probably going to pick up a book on the theory later tonight from the library.”

He laughed shaking his head. As he did, he caught sight of Ron and Harry behind them. His eyebrows shot up as he looked back at her. “Ron not walking with Lavender?”

Casually she replied, “I don’t know. Their relationship issues aren’t my business.”

“Looks like he wants to be friends with you again, if you ask me.”

“We are friends,” she reminded him. “He’s just a prat. He can apologize and be nicer to Lavender if he wants things to go back to normal.”

If Dean was surprised before, this surprised him even more. “Apologize to Lavender?”

“Yes. It’s not her fault she has feelings for him. She isn’t doing anything wrong. It’s Ron who’s using her.”

“Ah, to be used in romance. I wouldn’t know what that feels like,” he said with a straight face. She smacked his arm.

“Yes, because you’re the only one being used,” she said under her breath.

“You started it,” he said, looking down at her and giving her a playful nudge, dimples cutting into his cheeks.

She shook her head and laughed. A portrait of two old warlocks were shouting at each other, deep in a debate regarding the import of foreign magical creatures. Their voices carried and reverberated off the walls.

“That reminds me, I forgot to tell you last night, I spoke with Ginny,” Dean said suddenly in an undertone.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She actually said hello to me at dinner. We chatted for a few moments, and she asked me and Seamus how our holidays were. So I told her about you coming over for dinner and meeting my family. You should have seen the look on her face! You would have thought she’d been hit by a Bludger.”

Hermione thought about this for a moment. Was it good or bad? Either Ginny was still interested in Dean and was trying to maintain some sort of familiarity, or she didn’t have feelings for him at all and could now easily make small-talk with him.

Taking Hermione’s silence as an invitation to continue he said, “She was upset. She tried to hide it, but I could tell. Her neck started turning red, which always happens when she’s angry. All she said was, ‘That’s nice’!” He looked at her excitedly, waiting to see her reaction.

This was news. First Ron being put out with Lavender and trying to insert himself back into their friend group, and now this. This insane plan was working, it was actually working! “I can’t believe it,” she said.

“It’s not like I didn’t want her to meet my family. She lived too far and never seemed keen on me meeting the rest of hers.” He slung his arm around her, looking very pleased with himself. “We’re doing it Granger.”

Part of her knew she shouldn’t be proud of their deception, but another, much louder part of herself was thrilled. Thinking about how she had spent last night, curled up in Dean’s lap as she chatted with Seamus and his friends, she smiled. She was apparently much more capable than she thought.

Who knows, maybe by the end of it, I’ll finally be over Ron like I hoped I’d be, she thought wistfully as they walked out onto the grounds towards the greenhouses.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/3/to-all-the-wizards-the-return).


	8. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Dean go on a Valentine's date.

January trudged on with freezing wind and icy rain. Professor Flitwick led the Charms Club in special measures to strengthen the heating charms placed around the castle. Students spent most of their time huddled around fires with their friends, avoiding going outdoors when at all possible.

It was just as well. The start of the new term had brought heaps of new work that most students, besides Hermione, had not been expecting. Harry had additionally been tasked by Dumbledore with retrieving a memory from Professor Slughorn. Hermione knew the assignment must be incredibly important for Dumbledore to personally task him with it. However, instead of heeding her advice on how to carefully retrieve it, he had approached Professor Slughorn after a particularly irksome lesson that left Slughorn lauding his potion making skills, per Ron’s advice, and asked him directly. Unsurprisingly, this didn’t work, and Professor Slughorn had shut him out since.

That Potions class in particular was also why she wasn’t speaking to Harry. They had been instructed to devise and brew an antidote for a poison they selected at random. This was an assignment that would require a working understanding and application of the theory, something the Prince could not do for Harry. However, despite her hard work, he had still managed to cheat his way through the lesson.

She had been certain the milky white poison she selected was Bane of Beasts. _Specialis Revelio_ had confirmed that its ingredients included baneberry, death caps, and lacewing flies. This was her moment, she knew it.

A feeling of guilt had crept over her, as she stirred the contents of her cauldron, glancing at Dean who had been hunched over his cauldron, muscles taut in deep concentration, sweat dripping off his brow. She wished she could sit next to him so that she could help. Dean was over-stirring his antidote when it needed to sit and simmer. Glancing at Harry, meanwhile, proved that he was stumped, staring frustratingly at the Prince’s book.

Quickly, she’d shoved a few last ingredients into her bottle as Professor Slughorn walked around. It wasn’t complete, but it was no doubt closer than anyone else’s in the classroom. She sat up straight with a smug feeling of satisfaction  as Professor Slughorn came around to their table. Bane of Beasts was a poison more commonly used in North America because of its use of baneberries. Unless someone had read the entirety of _Advanced Potion-Making_ , they wouldn’t have read the last section regarding foreign poisons and their antidotes.

All of her hope soon dissipated, however, as Professor Slughorn stood over Harry, marveling at the shriveled bezoar that sat on the table in front of him. He had been so taken with Harry’s nerve that he hadn’t even looked at her antidote, and even though — like the rest of the class — she hadn’t finished, her attempt hadn’t even been marked.

She had stormed out of the classroom, livid. It took Dean’s best cautious attempts at soothing her and assuring her that everyone knew Harry was a fraud to convince her not to break down Professor Slughorn’s office door and force him to mark her antidote.

Instead, she redirected her energy into being angry with Harry. As far as she was concerned, if he’d rather rely on the Prince than put an honest effort into _anything_ then maybe the blasted book could help him get Slughorn’s memory and find out about Horcruxes for him.

Of course, she was still concerned. She just refused to tell him anything about it. The library had still proved unfruitful in her many attempts at locating any literature on “Horcruxes.” All the while, the news in the _Daily Prophet_ was constantly reminding her of the urgency of the tasks at hand. Some days the weight of it was too much and she couldn’t finish reading the paper. If disappearances and burning fields were what they were printing, what were the things they were hiding?

One Tuesday in late January, Dean and Hermione were looking over the _Prophet_ together, as they had taken to doing over breakfast.

“Any news?” Seamus asked, peeking his head over the top of the paper.

Hermione set the paper down and with a sigh said, “ _‘Farmhouse and nearby farmland set ablaze south of Dungannon, suspected work of Death Eaters’_.”

“What in Merlin’s name are they burnin’ out there for?” Seamus asked incredulously.

Dean and Hermione exchanged looks. The Death Eaters had been getting bolder since the holiday break. They were committing blatant acts of terror, but thus far had kept it out of urban areas, not daring to assert themselves that boldly against the Ministry. People were frightened. But apparently, there were those who still weren’t frightened enough, who thought things weren’t serious until the terror was brought to their back doors.

“What in Merlin’s name are they doing any of this for, mate?” Dean said a bit harshly. He stabbed at the eggs on his plate, gripping Hermione’s hand tightly with his other hand.

Seamus, tactfully realizing when more thoughts from him weren’t welcome, bowed out of the conversation.

Even with Harry off, busy courting both Draco Malfoy and The Prince, Hermione found herself easing into her new routine. Without Harry and Ron around, she generally found herself lonely. Especially last term, she had spent a lot of her time missing Ron, but she wasn’t now.

On the one hand, this might be because she found that she was, despite herself, less angry with him. There were times his blue eyes would find hers across the classroom, and she could still faintly feel her heart race. And though his treatment of her hadn’t _much_ improved, she felt more accepting and less angry at the situation they were in.

Meanwhile, she was spending more and more time with Dean. It was beginning to feel like they were becoming friends in their own right. There was their public persona, which was still garnering quite a bit of attention. Since she had sat in his lap, Dean had taken it as some sort of challenge. Who could outdo the other as the superior significant other? Hermione’s favorite play was to sit on the floor against his legs while he sat in an armchair in the common room as she looked over his essay or homework. Dean would sometimes play with her hair, or braid it like he would for his sisters as he looked over her shoulder at her corrections, his breath tickling the back of her neck. This seemed to irritate both Weasleys to no end, to the point that they would disappear from the common room altogether.

Generally, Dean won in the sentimentality aspect, with all of the sketches he was still providing. He had treated her to a few more of his more detailed pieces. She now had a sketch of Seamus cheering from the Gryffindor Quidditch stands, one of Luna sitting on the ground, legs crossed, Quibbler in her lap, and one of Neville bent over some succulents in the greenhouse. He drew whatever inspired him or whatever he thought she’d like to see that day.

None of this, however, was what Hermione liked best. Her favorite moments were when they were by themselves, with no Weasleys, no Seamus, and no other prying eyes around. This is when they could laugh and joke about their predicament or at the antics of the wizards around them that seemed bizarre to them as Muggle-borns.

They had passed an enjoyable afternoon in just this manner, the Friday before their first Apparition Lesson. They were situated at a table in the library near the windows — Dean sat across from Hermione, who was surrounded with books on the theory and principles of Apparition. Outside was a muddle of grey and white. More freezing rain fell from grey clouds, creating slush with the grey week-old snow banks on the grounds below.

Hermione was engrossed in _Flying Feats in Artful Apparition_. It was a nice change of pace from all of the other literature on the subject, full of horror stories of hideous splinches and people who had Apparated and never arrived at their destination. Dean had spent most of the day teasing her for being over-worried. Once she had threatened to take House points for being disruptive in the library, he finally agreed to leave her be and work on some new sketches with the new charmed pencil set she had bought him.

As she read, she came across the story of a man who was recorded to have successfully Apparated the furthest distance in history (1,707 km). Particularly intrigued by this, she pulled out the quill she had tucked behind her ear and began scribbling on her parchment, making notes for later research.

Dean chuckled. Hermione looked up to see him smiling slightly, watching her. When her gaze met his, he didn’t look away. He leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him, propped on his elbows. His shirt sleeves were rolled up again, no smudges of ink on his forearms this time.

A smirk played on his lips before he finally said, “You’re cute.”

Hermione’s stomach did a somersault as if she were riding the back of a Thestral that had dropped into a sudden dive. She furrowed her brow, confused. Turning in her seat to look around, she found the library was mostly empty. There were no Weasleys around, or anyone else for that matter, only Madam Pince with a large stack of books in her boney arms, three more stacks floating behind her. She turned back to him. Was he joking?

“W-what?”

He leaned back in his chair, seemingly satisfied with her reaction. “You heard me, Granger.” He opened his sketchbook back to the page he had been working on, unbothered, as if he always complimented her in this way.

Her nose wrinkled, as she realized what was going on. A blush was threatening to bloom on her cheeks, and she felt uncomfortable. “Don’t flirt.”

“Oh, is that in the contract as well, then?” he said, not looking up from his sketch. There was laughter in his voice. He was laughing at her. Of course he was. They were friends and he was clearly teasing her.

Indignantly, she pressed on. “This isn’t some teen drama TV show. We don’t flirt.”

He pretended to be focused on his sketching.

“Besides,” she said with a sigh, “I’m not Ginny. Conserve your energy.”

She had meant it as a joke, but he looked up from his sketch then, his warm eyes searching hers. The distinct feeling of having said something she shouldn’t have came over her. Things were going well with their plan, she thought. Perhaps he and Ginny had had an argument. Should she not have brought her up?

After a moment he seemed to come out of whatever thoughts he was having and instead said, “Have you thought about what you might want to do next week for the Hogsmeade trip? Madam Pudifoot’s is a treat this time of year.” Another joke.

The school had been buzzing about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip for weeks. It was a Hogsmeade trip on Valentine’s Day weekend. Hermione had never cared for the day. Shops were overcrowded, sweets and pastries were overpriced. She had fully intended to spend the day curled up in the good chair by the fireplace, reading up on any material their Apparition Instructor recommended.

“I don’t think I want to go,” she said, no longer looking at him, trying to ignore her irritation from the previous conversation.

They could hear Madam Pince shuffling amongst the stacks a few rows over. Dean leaned in close and said in an insistent whisper, “It’s in the contract that we would go to Hogsmeade together.”

“Yes, but it’s going to be madness if we try to go next weekend. Everyone is planning on going that day!” Hermione said desperately. She couldn’t think of anything she’d least like doing on Valentine’s Day weekend than going to that tea shop.

“You’re my girlfriend. What will it look like if I don’t do anything for you on Valentine’s Day?” Before she could open her mouth to respond that she, in fact, wasn’t his girlfriend, he added in exasperation, “I _know_ you aren’t my actual girlfriend. Look, don’t let Ginny’s attitude fool you. She may look like she doesn’t care about that stuff, but if she knows I’ve taken you out for the day it will drive her crazy.”

The eye roll came of its own accord. She sympathized with his plight, she did. But she felt unwilling to give up a perfect and quiet day of studying to the grimy hands of the Valentine’s Day crowd. “I’m not trying to drive her crazy. I just want to help you, help make her aware of her own feelings, if they’re there.”

“Trust me, if they are there, you going with me will absolutely stir them up a bit. Besides, don’t you want Ron to see you having a perfectly good and unbothered Valentine’s Day weekend?”

Of course, when he put it like that, she couldn’t say no. It _would_ look bad if they didn’t go. She didn’t want Ron to even think she was moping around, because of him or any boy. Besides, if they didn’t honor the contract, what was the point of any of this?

So a week later, she found herself walking hand in hand with Dean, down to Hogsmeade the Saturday after Valentine’s Day.

The actual day-of had already proven to be a trial for all who had to bear witness to the antics of Lavender and Won-Won. She had made Ron a huge and rather loud singing card that stood as tall as she did. When opened, little cherubs flew out and threw glitter and confetti at the recipient. This of course was fine, because Lavender had bought them matching pink jumpers with hearts on them, in which she insisted he change into, once he was covered in glitter from the attack. She then spent the rest of the day following and cooing after Ron, who bore it fairly well, looking more like he was serving a detention with Filch.

The morning of the Hogsmeade trip, however, they had left Ron and Lavender arguing in the common room. Giving into her more selfish thoughts, Hermione enjoyed having the consolation of knowing they may not join the festivities at all, while she would be seen out having a great time with her boyfriend, Dean.

A cold breeze whipped past them as they walked onto the Hogwarts grounds. Shivering, Hermione moved closer to Dean. Although the weather was still cold, there was no longer any snow on the ground. Taking advantage of any respite from the winter weather, most students had shed their winter cloaks for their lighter every day cloaks, paired with festive pink and red scarves and hats. Hermione wished she hadn’t been so hasty, and had opted for her coat rather than her lighter pink jacket.

Casually, Dean pulled her closer, throwing his arm around her as they walked. They stumbled a bit and he laughed.

“Couldn't conjure a couple of blue flames in a jar could you?”

“Ah, but if we carried those around how could we hold hands and signal to everyone that we are, in fact, dating?” Hermione said knowingly.

He squeezed her tighter, chuckling. “Too right you are. In favor of the mission, I suppose we'll have to make do.”

Looking at Dean, in his leather bomber jacket, eyes alight with excitement, it occurred to Hermione that maybe this might actually be fun. She'd spent so much time dreading the crowds and simpering couples, she hadn't stopped to consider that it would essentially just be a day spent hanging out with Dean, when away from prying eyes.

Dean looked away from her and grimaced. Following his line of sight she saw Peter Davis, a 7th year Ravenclaw, and his girlfriend Sabrina Stevens, a 7th year Hufflepuff, cooing at each other. Hermione wondered if a love potion had been employed by either of them.

Clearing his throat, Dean said, “I suppose we should count ourselves lucky we found each other to be in a fake-relationship with. Anyone else might have expected _that_.” He indicated towards Davis and Stevens, who were now somehow tangled up with each other while still walking.

“We are lucky I suppose. That looks awful.” They laughed together as they strolled through the grounds entrance flanked by two winged boar statues. After a moment of thought, Hermione added, “It almost could have been Ernie Macmillan for me. What a nightmare.”

“Ernie? Why Ernie?”

“He was one of the ones who received my, erm, notes. He was decidedly not happy about it.”

Dean gaped at her, dropping his arm from her shoulders. “You considered Ernie as a potential boyfriend? You know he’s gay, right?”

“You don’t know that he’s gay.” Dean gave her a doubtful look. “And yes. He has the second best marks in most classes.”

“But he’s a pompous idiot!” Hermione shrugged sheepishly at him. “I mean, I suppose that’s a hex dodged, but your choice in men Hermione, I just don’t know.”

Instead of explaining that she too had come to that conclusion in her notes, she stopped, placing her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with my choice in men?” Sure, not all of the boys who she had taken an interest in were winners, but she was young. Mistakes happen when you’re still learning.

“Well Ernie we’ve covered. Viktor was apparently about as bright as a mountain troll. Ron, no explanation needed there.”

With each name he ticked off on his finger, she let out another cry of indignation. At the end of his list she reached to whack him on the head, which he easily dodged. “Viktor is very kind! And I wrote a ‘note’ to both Harry and you, didn’t I? My taste in men can’t be that bad.”

He rolled his eyes and began walking, leaving her to catch up with him. “Sure. You included Harry in your notes specifically to rule him out. That leaves you one out of four. Odds say you have bad — taste —” Each of these last words resulted in a poke in Hermione’s side.

“Five,” she said, correcting him.

“Five? Five what?”

She stared at the village looming ahead, refusing to look at him. “Five notes.”

“You wrote notes about _five_ boys? Who else, then?” Dean looked agitated. He looked at her insistently, demanding to know who else might have received the honor of getting an accidental letter from herself. It was actually quite funny.

“Oliver Wood.” As soon as she said it, her smug demeanor was replaced with a searing blush. She had never told anyone that she had ever had a crush on Oliver Wood. It had been short lived, from first year until third — a school girl crush.

“Wood?!” If Ernie had surprised him, Oliver Wood had left him gobsmacked. Seeing that she didn’t intend to convey anymore than that, he pressed on. “Why Wood? What did he say? Did he owl you?”

“No, of course not,” she said waving him away. “I imagine he’s busy with traveling for matches and training. He probably missed the owl altogether.” That’s what she had assumed, what she had hoped. Her letters to Viktor often got missed when he was traveling internationally. Besides, he would likely barely remember her if he had received her letter. How odd it would seem to get a letter from a girl from your school days gushing about her old crush on you. She shook her head,  _No, he couldn’t have received it._

“Do you just think Quidditch players make good potential suitors or something?”

“Suitors?” She raised an eyebrow and snorted. “No, I had a small crush on him in like first year. It wasn’t cause he was handsome, although he was. He was just so driven, and kind, and watching him on a broom—”

“Earth to Hermione.” Dean snapped in front of her face. She had trailed off, stopping in the middle of the road, while she stared out in the distance, eyes full of memory and imagination. “So you _do_ have a thing for Quidditch players. Alright, alright! No need to hit me. I, too, have dated a Quidditch player, I get it.”

He was smirking at her. How insufferable. She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you tell anyone Dean, I swear I will hex you.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “No worries, Granger. Shall we add it to the contract?” His eyes were shining down at her, as they always did when he was feeling playful.

Without a word of response, she continued walking. Couples moved around them quickly, eager to secure a table at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. The faint smell of sweets and freshly baked bread rose to meet them. It was so inviting, Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the thought of sitting with a plate of biscuits and a warm cup of tea, away from the cold wind.

“Shall we head to Madam Pudifoot’s first?” She blinked in surprise at his ability to read her thoughts before wrinkling her nose in her tell-tale sign of disgust. “I’m joking Granger. Where would you like to go?”

Now that they were in the village, she realized they had made no solid plans, other than agreeing that the goal was to get out of the castle and be seen having a good time.

Hermione tilted her head up. Grey clouds loomed threateningly in the sky, warning of rain to come later that evening. As a precaution, she ruled out any outdoor activities.

“Maybe we could just go to the Three Broomsticks? I imagine anywhere else is going to be too busy today,” she suggested.

“OK, sure. Maybe first we can head to Tomes and Scrolls and look around?” Dean added.

Hermione looked at him with surprise. “You want to spend the day walking around a bookshop?”

“With you? Absolutely.”

She snorted. He really was so effortlessly charming. Most of the time, she got the sense he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. She wondered if this was the side of him that Ginny had seen that made her fall for him.

Spending the day in the bookshop seemed more preferable to anything else that Hogsmeade had to offer. Plus, she had only visited the shop a few times, because most of the time Harry and Ron didn’t want to go. They thought it was boring. Dean had never been and was excited to go.

A bell tinkled overhead as they pushed the door open to the admittedly rather dingy looking storefront. Tomes and Scrolls was a much smaller and more cramped store than Flourish and Blotts and a lot less clean. Shelves lined the walkways, packed tight with dusty old books. Some shelves featured strange foreign objects in addition to the books.

“What a creepy place to bring your boyfriend,” Dean said under his breath, chuckling.

That gained him a swift elbow to the side as a distant voice was heard from the back, welcoming them.

Though the books themselves weren’t pretty — most were worn, torn, stained, or some combination of the three — the bookshelves in Tomes and Scrolls were full of unique and interesting books and other objects. They specialized in the oddities and the rare. This seemed to genuinely interest Dean as he perused the cases with her, rather than standing back, like Harry and Ron might have done.

They spent a couple of hours laughing their way through the shelves, sliding past one another through the tight rows as they reached for a book or an object. There was a collection of magical taxidermy, which held their attention for a while. It wasn’t unlike Muggle taxidermy, except for the fact that when you touched a piece it became animated momentarily, almost indistinguishable from the living creature.

Hermione gave a great shout when she reached out to touch the silver fur of a life-size Hidebehind, deadly and dangerous when alive, only for it to suddenly reach out and snarl at her. She jumped back into Dean, who quickly moved her behind him. Clutching each other, they devolved into laughter when they realized it was merely enchanted, similar to an animatronic at a Muggle theme park.

At another point, Dean handed her a long rectangular book. When Hermione opened it she squealed, pushing it back in his grasp and pushing him away. He was bent over with laughter. The book had been sitting nondescript on the shelf of art books he had been perusing. Inside however, were a bunch of sketches of creepy crawly bugs. Being that this was a magical art book, the pictures of the bugs moved around the page, as if they were actually there ready to jump at her.

Deciding it was time to bring their visit to an end, they exited the shop with tears of mirth streaming down their faces. Both of them left empty handed, wanting to leave before they disturbed the shop owner any more with their giggles and shouts.

Silence settled between them as they walked down the sidewalk, taking a moment to catch their breath. Hermione wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and looked around. The atmosphere around Hogsmeade was very strange. It was almost eerie.

Posters of wanted wizards and decrees of warning appeared in shop windows and notice boards just as in Diagon Alley. Here, more shops had been shuttered, windows boarded up, appearing to have been recently vacated. Amongst the crowds, she spotted Aurors, posted in their Ministry attire, badges pinned to their chests, on official duty.

In stark contrast to the atmosphere, students milled about, seemingly oblivious to signs of dangerous times around them, too young to have eyes for anything else this day besides love and candy. Hermione shivered.

“It’s a bit eerie, isn’t it?”

She looked up at Dean. His face was serious, his jaw set. This was a look she’d seen from time to time while they read the news together and that one time when he had driven her back to the train station.

Nodding, she looked back to the people walking around them, at the couples laughing as they walked, exchanging kisses as they went. Others didn’t notice the poster with the photograph of a dark haired man who seemed to snarl at them as they passed.

_WANTED:_

_Amycus Carrow_

_Amycus Carrow is wanted under the suspicion of aiding and abetting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He is the brother of Alecto Carrow — both are suspected Death Eaters and are extremely dangerous. Approach with caution._

_If you have any information, please contact your local Auror office._

Dean laced his fingers through hers, tugging at her arm to make her face him. She jumped at the contact, not having noticed that she had stopped to stare at the poster and the snarling face of the angry man.

“You alright?”

Shaking the dark thoughts from her head, she smiled. “Yeah, let’s get out of the street.”

The Three Broomsticks, they were relieved to find, wasn’t as crowded as they had expected. Ginny passed with her friends as they entered. She gave them a curt nod, appearing to Hermione unfazed. She supposed not each of their schemes was going to result in drastic reactions in both Weasleys each time.

They found a secluded table in the not often sought after second level, which was quiet with plenty of seating, albeit a little drafty. Dean bought them both butterbeers. Hermione sipped hers, letting the sweet warmth of the beverage overtake her as she looked out over the lower level of the pub.

“You sure you’re alright?” Dean asked after a moment. He looked sincerely concerned. His eyes were almost in a squint, trying to ascertain any distress in her face.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh, taking another drink of butterbeer. “It’s just a little unsettling to see Hogsmeade this way. Even more unsettling how unbothered some wizards are about it. Things are getting worse and—“ she trailed off not knowing what else to say.

He sighed, leaning back and rubbing his face with his hands in frustration. “I know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. It seems like people with wizarding families and wizarding parents aren’t worried at all.”

“Some of them are worried.” She thought of the Order, of Lupin going undercover in werewolf dens, and of Dumbledore training Harry. Then she remembered their inability to find time to help protect her family. “They mean well, they’re just a bit nearsighted.”

After a moment of silence, both of them mulling over their own grim thoughts and drinking occasionally from their mugs, Dean finally asked, “Do you know what you’re going to do, if things turn?”

His darkened expression told her this was something that had been bothering him for some time now. Below, raucous laughter rose up, a group of villagers had begun singing “She’ll be Striking Down the Mountain,” which she recognized to be a Holyhead Harpies chant about Gwenog Jones that Ginny would often sing around the Burrow.

“Yes.” Her voice came out squeakier than she intended. She cleared her throat. “Yes, of course.”

She hoped she didn’t sound as scared as she felt. What could she do to prepare for the worst? Instinctively, she knew running away with her parents was not an option. She knew she would be with Harry until the end. That was a foregone conclusion. It was what would become of her family that worried her the most.

“You’ll be with Harry, then?” His voice was gruff, but his face was kind, unjudging.

She nodded as she tipped the remaining contents of her mug back.

“I’m thinking of sending my family into hiding. My mum still has relatives in America.” He then added more forcefully, “I just don’t know when. Or how. I keep reading the news, waiting for the sign. The news is always bad, but never any worse than it was before.”

“I think we’ll have to start making preparations soon.” Another shiver passed over her as she considered the weight of the words and what they meant for her. “The sign you’re looking for will come suddenly and there won’t be time to prepare. It will be too late when it does come.”

She reached out across the table, covering his hand with hers, trying to be of some comfort. There was a closeness between them in that moment that she had never felt even with Harry and Ron. Like her, he was a Muggle-born. He too felt the gravity of what decision lay before her because a very similar decision lay before him. All of the signs and ill tidings were direct threats to their humanity and their families.

It was his turn to drain his drink. What a pair they must seem. Two teenagers, throwing back drinks in a pub, looking morose on what was supposed to be a romantic date. She laughed suddenly.

“What?” he asked, foam covering the top of his lip.

“I was just thinking we must look like a sorry excuse for a Valentine’s date,” she said, giggling as she moved to wipe the foam from his lip.

He jumped a bit, surprised by her touch. She grinned sheepishly, dropping her hand. A moment passed before he too laughed.

“Two more butterbeers, I think, and some chips,” she then said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Here, here!” he said, raising his empty glass.

She lifted her glass to meet his before standing to place another order. As she passed she placed her hand on his head, letting her thumb briefly rub back and forth. Having a friend like Dean made her feel less alone, which was kind of nice on Valentine’s Day weekend.

“She’ll be sending back the Chasers from where they come!” There were shouts of enthusiasm as the crowd below bellowed the final lines of the chant.

She dropped her hand from his head and smiled down at him. His expression was indiscernible as he looked up at her.

“I’ll be back,” she said before descending the stairs into the festivities.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/4/to-all-the-wizards-the-date).


	9. The Corridor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has an interesting conversation with Dean.

“A _boy zone._ Are you sure?”

“Boyzone. It’s an Irish Muggle boy band,” Hermione corrected Seamus, not for the first time.

“Okay and a boy band is…?”

“Mate, we’ve already explained it,” Dean said, not looking up from the letter in his hands.

“Right, a bunch of lads, singing without instruments. I just wanted to be clear…and Padma likes them?”

Hermione didn’t know whether to laugh or throw her toast at Seamus. They’d gone over this plan with him a dozen times. Being the originator of it, she was quite proud and didn’t want him messing it up. “Yes. Parvati and Padma love Muggle boy bands. Parvati is partial to the American variety, but Padma loves Boyzone. Ronan specifically. Which, like I said, Boyzone are _Irish_. It’s a piece of culture you can bond over! She’ll tell you about the concert she went to last year in Dublin and you’ll say ‘Oh, my grandmother lives in Dublin, I go there all the time. Boyzone is huge there.’”

Watching his cereal grow increasingly soggy, Seamus sat pondering her words for a moment. More chatter filled the Great Hall than usual. There had been more disappearances in the last week, some being relatives of their classmates. Earlier in the morning, Peter Davis had left school with his mother after it was reported that his father had gone missing.

Sighing, she glanced at Dean. Over the past week she had caught herself doing so often. The edges of his dark hair were freshly clipped, making him look even more distinguished. His dark eyes flicked back and forth across the page, lost in the contents of the letter. Without warning, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. Quickly, she looked away, feeling a light flutter in her stomach.

“Alright, I’ve got it. But I don’t want her to date me just ‘cause I’m Irish like the boys in this band,” Seamus said.

“She’s not going to date you because you’re Irish. She’s going to date you because you finally got up the guts to start a conversation with her and it turns out you’re a good bloke. Plus it won’t hurt that you look like that Ronan guy.”

“Do I?”

“A bit,” Dean said, quickly dropping his eyes back to his letter.

“I feel like you’re having me on.”

“Merlin’s beard, just _go_ ,” Hermione said insistently. She looked to the Ravenclaw table where Padma was now finding a seat. She was glowing, her dark hair pulled back in a long plait, a soft pleasant expression on her face.

Seamus was not intimidated by her prettiness, rather he seemed to be emboldened by it. He shot up from his seat, face pale but eyes blazing. Looking back at them, he gave them a final nod and was gone.

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I’ve ever talked about Boyzone so much in my life.”

“You don’t chat about boy bands with your friends very often then?” Dean asked jokingly as he folded up the letter and set it next to his bowl of oatmeal.

Chewing on her last bit of buttered toast, she chuckled in response. She washed it down with a tart swig of freshly squeezed orange juice. Often, she pondered at the magic of house-elves. Even when certain produce was out of season, they were always able to prepare food as if it were fresh.

“My family says hello,” Dean said, taking a bite of his oatmeal.

Hermione grinned to herself at the thought of his colorful family. “That’s nice of them. Tell them I said hello back.”

In between bites of oatmeal he added, “They’ve asked you to visit during the Easter holiday.” Hermione choked slightly into her goblet of orange juice. “Well, Mum asked. The twins have all but insisted. They apparently read some books you recommended to them and they’re dying to discuss them with you.”

Lying to his family in person had been hard enough the first time. They had been so hospitable, it didn’t feel right for her to spend another full evening lying to them.

“Dean, your family is lovely but we couldn’t possibly! What will they all think when we do break up? Or worse, what if they find out?” She ignored his eye roll and pressed forward. “ _Besides_ , I’m not going home for the break. I have a lot of schoolwork to be getting on with, which will be easier to accomplish here.” Schoolwork was one way to put it, further investigating Horcruxes was another.

“Sounds like it’s settled then. I wasn’t planning on going home either. It’s too difficult to get homework done in a Muggle house full of siblings. I just haven’t written yet to let them know.”

“Why didn’t you start with that?” Hermione asked in relief.

“Because I thought you’d be pleased to know they really do like you.” He looked at her for a moment as she bit her lip, nervously. Setting his spoon down on the table, he took her face into his hands, forcing her to look at him. “You need to stop worrying so much. Everything’s fine. No one is going to find out. My family will go on liking you just like they have been, if I have anything to do with it.”

The warmth of his hands masked the heat of her own cheeks that was only increasing as his dimples peeked out at her from his comforting smile. “Yes, but—“

“Stop. You keep overthinking this,” he said, cutting her off. “We have a contract only you and I know about. We have our goals.” At this he glanced down the table, where she knew Ginny was sitting. She was wearing the blue jumper Mrs. Weasley had knitted her for Christmas. It had a golden broom on it, which Ginny had stylishly enchanted to fly around the sweater. Coming back to his senses after a moment, Dean continued, “We’ll break up amicably. In fact, it’ll be so amicable no one will even be upset by it.”

His thumb gently grazed her cheek in a way that she knew was meant to be calming. Instead, his thumb felt as if it was searing her skin, leaving a trace of tingles in its wake. Trying to hide her embarrassment, she took a deep breath, and finally said, “Of course. You’re right.”

His smile widened as he dropped his hands, but not before pinching her cheek and saying, “That’s my girl!”

All of the heat left her face and the fluttering in her stomach dissipated as she swatted his hand away. “Watch it, or maybe we won’t break up so amicably.”

Holding up his hands in surrender at the sight of her glare, he laughed, “Got it. No cheek pinching. Might have to write that one down too, so I don’t forget.”

She shook her head and took another drink of her orange juice to hide her smile.

—

Seamus had both made progress and not made progress with Padma over the next couple of days. On the one hand, she didn’t seem opposed to his attempts to approach her. On the contrary, she had happily engaged him in conversation about Ireland and where the various members of Boyzone were from. On the other hand, she seemed more amused by his antics than she was intrigued. Dean and Hermione had decided to treat this as a net positive and to continue to encourage him.

Of course, others in their year had started to notice. Harry was walking with Hermione back from dinner on Thursday when he brought it up.

“What was up with Seamus attacking Padma in Potions?”

“He didn’t attack her,” she said defensively. “He just asked her if she wanted to study with him for the test on Monday.”

“More like screamed it at her.”

“He didn’t mean to. I imagine his ears were ringing from the loud _pops_ that kept coming from his cauldron.” Thankfully, Seamus still hadn’t had any major accidents in class that would embarrass him in front of Padma. However, in Potions he had made a rather noisy potion that appeared to conduct something similar to electricity. Loud metallic _cracks_ and _pops_ kept issuing from the cauldron, eventually sending a couple of students to the Hospital Wing complaining of ringing ears.

Harry looked as if he was stifling a laugh with a look on his face that said “whatever you say.”

“At least, he’s trying to get to know her, unlike some boys I know when they like a girl.” She gave him a sidelong glance.

A flush crept up his cheeks. He diverted his attention to the portrait of an old man picking grapes, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, trying to hide the redness. “It’s probably more complicated for some guys than others.” He glanced at her and quickly looked away, embarrassed.

They rounded the corner into a large domed corridor. She was about to reassure him that if he just spoke with Ron regarding Ginny everything would work out fine, but before she could say anything of the sort, Harry suddenly grabbed her arm, pulling her into the nearest empty classroom. There were no torches lit inside, and no windows. But for the shaft of light pouring in from the crack at the bottom of the door, it was nearly pitch black.

“Harry! What on Earth–“

“Shh!”

 _Lumos,_ she thought, with a quick flick of her wand. Her wand tip illuminated the room. It was a smaller classroom and had apparently been in disuse for many years. Only a few damaged desks remained piled in the corner. Cobwebs adorned the walls and dust crunched beneath her feet as she shifted her weight.

She turned back to Harry who had now pulled out the Marauder’s Map and was furiously unfolding it. Paying her no mind, he positioned himself next to the door, straining to listen. Curious, against her better judgement, she peered over his shoulder. On the map she could see their dots standing next to each other in Classroom 505. Outside, walking past in the opposite direction were Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

“Dammit, I can’t hear them. I should have brought Extendable Ears. It looks like they’re heading back to the dungeons,” he said mostly to himself.

“You can’t be serious. Even if they were up to something, do you really think they’d just discuss it in the corridors for anyone to hear?”

“Snape and Malfoy did at Slughorn’s Christmas Party.”

“But you had the Invisibility Cloak! This corridor isn’t that long. There’s no way they didn’t see us come in here. You aren’t going to catch anything.”

He wasn’t listening to her. Instead his focus was directed intently at the map, his brow furrowed.

She groaned in frustration. “I don’t have time for this. Move.” Her attempts to shove him away from the door were easily thwarted.

“You can’t just leave. Then they’ll know we were up to something!”

“ _We_!?” Her voice came out in a shrill whisper. “ _I_ didn’t shove _me_ into this dark classroom. _You_ did!” She was prodding him with her lit wand to emphasize her point.

He sighed looking down at the map. The three Slytherins’ dots had now rounded the corner and were making their way towards the stairs at the other end of the corridor.

Frustrated, he tapped the map with his own wand muttering, “Mischief managed.” For a moment, he stood pinching the bridge of his nose. Hermione watched, incredulous at her best friend’s behavior. “He keeps disappearing. I just can’t figure out where he’s been going. You don’t reckon the map’s broken?”

She stared at him, her arms now crossed.

Not waiting for her to answer he continued, “Ron thinks he might be leaving the school. But he can’t be using the secret tunnels, I’ve been watching them.”

“Oh well if Won-Won is interested in your little investigation, why don’t you talk to him about it?” Hermione sniffed indignantly.

At the mention of “Won-Won” Harry looked at her, his expression now exasperated. “Hermione, couldn’t you just—“

“ _I’m_ not the one that needs to apologize, Harry.”

While Ginny seemed to be unaffected by her and Dean’s Valentine’s outing, Ron had returned to being just as ill-tempered as he was before the holidays. It wasn’t necessarily as mean spirited, but he had commanded a lot more of Harry’s time, while still resolutely avoiding her. If it had not been for Dean and Seamus, this would have left her nearly friendless.

With a wave of her wand she put out the light and reached to wrench the door open. Exhaling a resigned sigh, she looked at him. He was being absurd, but she was too tired to deal with it today. “Last I checked, Malfoy’s hair isn’t long enough nor red enough to command this much of your attention. Maybe try focusing on getting Slughorn’s memory instead, or on Quidditch, even.”

A deep cherry hue overcame Harry’s skin. She patted his shoulder as she moved past him and out into the corridor.

—

This school year she was spending more time irritated with Harry than not. At breakfast the next morning, she gave him a cold stare as he walked past them to join Ron at the other end of the table. Generally, this look would have been withering enough to at least make him a bit remorseful. Instead, he pretended not to notice. _Fine_ , she thought, _if he wants to be that way, then the Prince, Malfoy, and Ron can help him with his Transfiguration essay._

Thankfully, Dean had made it a point throughout their fake-relationship to stay out of matters regarding her friendship with Harry and Ron. He did pick on her for fancying Ron when he was such a prat, but about serious matters he stayed out of it completely. Instead, he took the opportunity to serve as a distraction from her irritation.

In other matters, however, he wasn’t so keen to take an inactive approach. Outside of Defense Against the Dark Arts, while waiting for Snape, Dean noticed a cluster of Slytherins a few feet away, Pansy and her cronies, giggling and whispering while pointing at them.

“What’s this lot on about, then?” he asked with a sneer on his face.

Hermione, who had noticed their behavior earlier on their way to Charms, merely shrugged, not looking up from her tattered copy of _Hogwarts: A History_.

“They keep pointing at us.”

“Leave it,” she said, almost bored. “If I had a Knut for every time Pansy laughed at me I’d be richer than Malfoy.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Pansy and their group. They didn’t notice the intense glare he had fixed them with.

“Why would it bother me? She’s either commenting on my cheap shoes, laughing at my blood status, or speculating how anyone could possibly date me. Pansy isn’t particularly creative.”

“How anyone could date you?” he asked incredulously. Hermione shut her book, finally looking up at him, amused. Pushing himself off the wall on which he had been leaning he said, “I’m going to say something. They can’t just talk about my girlfriend like that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry and Ron approach. Confronting them would cause a scene, and if Harry or Ron noticed, they would definitely jump at the opportunity to hex some Slytherins. Harry was looking for a reason to provoke Malfoy, who in this instance, was standing idly by, not listening to the chatter around him.

“ _Leave it_ ,” she said firmly, placing a hand lightly on his forearm. Gryffindor couldn’t afford the points it would inevitably cost for Harry, Ron, _and_ Dean to get into a duel with the Slytherins.

By the look in his eyes, she could tell he wasn’t going to drop it.            

To her relief, Professor Snape arrived just a moment later, putting an end to whatever schemes Dean had for the snickering Slytherins. _Gryffindors_ , she thought as she shook her head.

—

By dinner that evening, she had mostly forgotten the incident. A few Slytherins had smirked at her while whispering amongst themselves as they passed her in the corridors, but nothing else had come of it.

The enchanted ceiling overhead was full of shifting grey clouds. They churned above so vividly that Hermione thought she could almost feel the cold wind blowing in through the windows. Her mind was far away. She had spent her free period in the library, trying once again to find any mention of Horcruxes. Even after altering her search methods, she still turned up empty handed.

Between Harry’s inaction and the library failing her possibly for the first time, she felt stuck. She knew this must be important information and not having it made her feel vulnerable. Of course, Professor Dumbledore would surely reveal it in due time, but what if it was too late? Too late for what, she wasn’t sure.

“Did you hear me?”

Blinking, she looked away from the ceiling, almost startled to see Dean sitting next to her. Most of the Gryffindor table had cleared out or was finishing eating. The mahogany table was littered with crumbs and half-empty platters of food.

“I asked if you were ready to go.”

“Right, sorry. Yes. I was just thinking about my essay on British wizards’ arrival to the colonies.”

Nodding, Dean stood up from the table. His raised brow betrayed his skepticism, but he didn’t push it any further. Wordlessly, he held out his hand and helped her up from the table.

The corridors were fairly lively, with it being a Friday evening. Various portraits seemed to be hosting dinner parties to welcome in the weekend. Hermione stifled a giggle as they passed a portrait of what looked like two medieval jousters taking bets from the surrounding portraits for the upcoming Quidditch match—Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff.

Dean and Hermione’s clasped hands swung between them, fingers interlaced. It had become quite natural for them to hold hands, even when no one was around. Hermione had grown accustomed to his hand’s firm warm grip around her own. In fact, come to think of it, his hands were always warm. They were warm when he tucked an errant curl behind her ear, and they were warm that time on the way to Herbology when she had forgotten her gloves and he had taken her hands in his own and stuck them in his cloak pockets.

“It was like you said, by the way. Pansy isn’t very creative.”

The slight smile that had formed on her face while she was lost in thought, fell. “I told you to leave it. She’s really not worth your time,” she said knowingly.

“She and her friends found me. Well, me and Seamus. We were on our way back from the Quidditch pitch.”

“So which insult was it? Was I right?” she asked.

“Yes and no. I believe her words were ‘The Chosen Potty and his Mud—‘”

“Ah, yes. One from the vaults. Used to be one of her favorite insults and rumors to spread,” she said with an eye roll for emphasis.

They turned down a quieter corridor, a shortcut that took them away from the better trafficked halls. She couldn’t remember if it was her or Ron who had found it second year after a rogue staircase had shifted whilst they were climbing. The shafts of moonlight from the paned windows and the warm glow from the torches played against each other.

Dean was staring straight ahead, somewhat lost in thought. After a moment, he began nonchalantly, “You were also kind of right because she did call me ‘filth,’ a pure-blood classic.”

She nodded emphatically, “Mmm, an old one but a good one.”

“Specifically she said although I was ‘filth,’ she did feel a little bad for me. If it was her, she wouldn’t leave me and start sneaking around in deserted classrooms with ‘Pothead.’”

He was now looking at her with a raised eyebrow. There was no accusation in his voice, but he was acting strangely. The flickering light of the torches cast shifting shadows over his face so that she was unable to tell if he was serious or not. He had to know that she had never snuck around in classrooms with a boy like _that_ , and certainly not with Harry. Maybe Pansy was more creative than she gave her credit for.

“You don’t seriously believe that load of—“ she began, before breathing an “ _Oh!_ ” as realization washed over her. She had, in fact, spent time sneaking around in a classroom with Harry just a few days ago. Specifically, it was to unwittingly spy on Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. Draco must have told Pansy he saw them. He might have even hoped for this outcome, knowing that Pansy might start a rumor, as a way to warn Harry to back off. She felt a twang of remorse.

“I mean, we _did_ sneak into a classroom alone, but I swear it wasn’t anything like that!” It was beyond her why she even felt the need to defend herself. Of course, Pansy was lying. And besides, Dean wasn’t her real boyfriend and he knew full well at this point that Harry and she were nothing more than friends.

They passed through an arched opening at the end of the corridor, into a small moonlit breezeway. The wind whipped around them, throwing her curls wildly around her face. Dean walked up to the railing and leaned against it, turning to look over at her with a smirk.

“You don’t think I know that?” His robes flapped behind him in the wind. She came to lean against the rail next to him. He stared out onto the grounds as the moonlight brightened and dimmed, the clouds passing over it, obscuring it for moments at a time. “Everyone did seem to think it was a laugh, though. That really doesn’t bother you?”

She thought for a moment. Those rumors specifically hadn’t affected her in a long time, not since Harry had set the record straight with Mrs. Weasley. They were all made up and mostly based on Rita Skeeter’s original article on the matter. “To be honest, no. Anyone that matters knows they aren’t true. I suppose I could be more adamant in discounting them,” she paused, contemplating her next statement. As she did so, the moon emerged from behind a rather large dark cloud, illuminating the swaying trees of the forest in the distance.

“To be quite honest, I think I left that rumor alone partly because Pansy and Malfoy are going to say what they want anyway. But mostly, because it helped me hide the truth—that I liked Ron. I didn’t encourage them, obviously, but if people wanted to believe them, that was less people who were likely to find out my secret. It was a good cover.”

With a shrug she looked over at him, expecting him to crack some joke digging at Ron as he usually did when the topic came up. Instead she was surprised to find him staring at her, that telltale mischievous glint in his eye.

“Oh?” he said as he stepped towards her. Not fooled by his innocent voice for a moment, she took a step back, her back hitting the post behind her. “Is it a better cover than this has been?”

The moonlight highlighted his broad nose and the dimples from the smirk on his lips. He was staring down at her, daring her to answer. “No.” To her surprise, her voice came out soft and dazed.

Whatever answer he had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. Something in the air changed. It was as if all her nerves were standing on end. His smirk melted away, the glint in his eye was now gone, replaced by something else. She knew biting wind was whooshing past them, but her body was on fire. His bergamot scent swirled around her, making her brain buzz.

“Well then…” his voice was deep, barely above a whisper. She could feel his warm breath brush across her face.

Suddenly she was overtly aware of his hand on her hip, the other on the railing next to her. When had that happened? She busied her mind, trying to recall how many times he’d placed his hand on her hip and whether it had ever felt like this, whether she had felt this prickling anticipation before.

She watched as his eyes dark eyes searched hers, a question hanging between them. What question, Hermione didn’t know. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she realized he was leaning toward her. If he leaned any closer they would—

“Hermione!”

It was as if everything had snapped back into place. They jumped apart. The moon retreated behind the clouds. Her heart felt as if it was trying to escape from her chest.

“Hi Hannah!” she tried to say as casually as she could manage to the approaching Hufflepuff prefect. Her voice betrayed her though, shaking slightly.

Not noticing anything amiss, Hannah smiled at Dean in greeting before turning to Hermione. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Professor McGonagall has requested we head down early to her office before patrol. She wants to go over some new security procedures with us.”

“Erm, sure! We were just heading to the common room, but I can come with you now.” She turned to Dean for his approval and found him standing a few steps back from her, hands in his pockets, back to his casual relaxed self. She stared at him, bemused for a moment before saying, “I’ll, erm, see you later?”

“Of course. Do your duty,” he said, grinning at both of them, waving them off. He then turned on his heel, leaving the breezeway.

Hermione shivered and Hannah tapped her on the shoulder. “Shall we go?”

—

There were quite a few updates to the security procedures at Hogwarts, as recommended by the Ministry Aurors, in light of the increase in disappearances. Hermione had heard none of it, of course. Her mind was still reeling.

“What was _that_ about?” Hermione whispered to herself an hour later. Her mind kept replaying the same images; Dean’s brown eyes boring into hers, searching for something she couldn’t figure out, his hand firmly on her hip, and the almost imperceptible shift he’d made to lean forward right before Hannah arrived.

Surely he hadn’t meant to _kiss_ her. “That’d be ridiculous,” she said, scoffing to herself. She looked around, relieved to find herself alone. If Peeves had heard her muttering to herself, he’d be serenading the whole castle with a song about “barmy, brainy Hermione Granger babbling to herself” tomorrow.

The memory of how his smirk had fallen and his jaw had clenched, his mood suddenly serious, made her face hot. Detouring to the girl’s bathroom, she rushed to the porcelain sink and turned the knob to splash cold water on her face.

Slowly, she looked up, her reflection staring back at her, a mop of brown curls on her head. As if struck, a sense of déjà vu hit her. It was at a sink just like this that she had been trying to calm down about a different boy under different circumstances just a few months ago.

Laughter bubbled out of her. This year was proving to be far too dramatic, and she had The Boy Who Lived for a best friend. Hadn’t Dean told her specifically to stop overthinking things? It’s not like this was the first time he had teased her. That’s why she was so well attuned to the warning signs—the glint of his eye, the smirk.

Grabbing a paper towel, she patted her face, satisfied with her reasoning and a little embarrassed by how worked up she had been. She paused, remembering the look in his eyes after she had said _“No.”_ Had that been teasing, too?

The creak of the door opening echoed across the bathroom, tearing her away from that train of thought. Panicked, she ducked into the nearest stall. As soon as she shut the stall door behind her, she began berating herself. Why was she suddenly acting like some sort of lunatic? She didn’t have to hide. She was a prefect. Prefects had every right to be in the restroom past curfew. Rolling her eyes at her own antics, she began to unlock the stall to let herself out when she heard voices.

“Shh, if you’re not quiet we’ll get caught,” said a high-pitched voice.

“I can’t believe Mary really pulled through for us!” said another, more mature sounding girl.

“I still don’t see why she couldn’t bring the Wizards Wheezes stuff to us rather than having us risk our necks down in the dungeons,” said another girl, her voice more nasally than the others.

“Let’s just be happy we have them. Have you thought about who you’re gonna brew yours for?”

“Anthony Goldstein has been looking particularly handsome lately.”

“If you’re going to brew a love potion, you should dream bigger than that,” said the more mature girl. “I heard Romilda Vane tried to slip one to Harry Potter!”

Giggling ensued.

“Well, of course. _He’s_ the ultimate catch! But we should think more practically.”

“I dunno about ultimate catch,” said the high-pitched girl. “That Dean Thomas in Gryffindor is well fit.”

“Oh yes!” the nasally voice said emphatically. “Ever since he got on the Gryffindor team as an alternate he has been looking right fit.”

More giggling. Hermione suppressed an annoyed groan. She supposed these were lower year girls who didn’t know he had a girlfriend. Again she moved to unlatch the stall door. It was her job as prefect to send these girls to bed and confiscate whatever Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes contraband they had.

“Ugh, but isn’t he dating that awful Hermione girl?”

Hermione froze, hand on the latch.

One of the girls gave a great sigh. “That’s right. What an odd match. She’s supposed to be really smart and she’s nice looking, I guess.”

“A right know-it-all I’ve heard.”

“It is strange that he went from Ginny Weasley, who is easily the prettiest girl in our year to _her_ ,” the mature girl lamented.

“She isn’t half as pretty as Ginny, for sure. You’re much prettier, Kat. Pretty as Ginny, I reckon.”

“Thanks,” the mature girl said to the nasally one. “I suppose it’d be a bit _too_ cheeky to slip a love potion to a boy who already has a girlfriend wouldn’t it?”

Hermione was fuming. Who did they think they were? _Love potions?_ They’d have to be mad to attempt something so reckless. Of course she was used to girls swooning over Dean. They had been all year. But that was her boyfriend, as far as they were concerned at least!

Without warning, Hermione wrenched the stall door open, letting it bang back against the wall. The girls jumped, spinning around to look at her. It was a group of fourth year Ravenclaws, as she had suspected.

“You would think that if a group of Ravenclaws were going to sneak around, they’d be smart enough to keep their voices down,” she said, her voice dangerously steady.

The one with a smattering of freckles and short brown hair spoke up, her voice high-pitched, “We didn’t realize…we thought the bathroom was empty!”

“I’ll bet you did,” Hermione said, now outright glaring at the girls. She turned to the one with the long black hair and blue eyes. She was, in fact, pretty, Hermione thought, amused. Holding out her hand to the first she said, “Hand them over.” As she held out her hand, she made sure that her golden bolo bracelet was poking from her sleeve, heart clasp clearly visible.

The girls groaned and one-by-one handed their three magenta bottles with the signature Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes “W” embossed on them.

“We’re sorry i-if you heard, erm, anything,” the blonde one with the nasally voice said, finally.

Hermione ignored this. “Is that all?” she asked looking knowingly at the girls.

The pretty one, Kat, groaned and handed her an opened box from beneath her robes full of Fanged Frisbees, snack boxes, and other various Weasley goods.

“Well then,” Hermione said finally, after writing down a list of the items in her notepad that she always kept on her during patrol, “I’ll need you to write your names here. And I suppose your supplier was a girl named Mary, probably in your year, Slytherin?”

The girls nodded solemnly, looking thoroughly chastised as they wrote each of their names in Hermione’s notebook. After she took the notebook back from them, she noticed the blonde girl, Celia, subtly rolling her eyes to Kat.

“I’ll be turning this contraband into your Head of House,” they cried out in protest, “ _and_ I think I’ll take a point for each minute I had to listen to you lot plotting your use of love potions. So that’s about what, 10 points, _each_?”

“30 points!? Are you crazy? Our Housemates are going to kill us! Oh Anthony is going to be furious.”

“We can make it 15 each if you’d rather a nice 45 points?”

The mature girl immediately apologized on behalf of her friends and pushed them out the door, eager to put distance between them and Hermione.

Pulling the door open, she smiled ruefully to herself, as she stepped into the corridor. _I wouldn’t mind this rumor spreading. Might teach girls to stop gushing over him in the bathrooms all the time like I’m not there,_ she thought. With that happy thought, she finished the remainder of her patrol route with a slight pep in her step.

—

The morning dawned late for Hermione. Staying out later than usual for a patrol night left her more tired than normal. She had to stop by Professor Flitwick’s office to hand over the information and contraband. It was only out of a sense of mercy for her naïve schoolmates that she convinced Professor Flitwick not to send the information to Mr. Filch. Their fates would have been worse had he been involved.

A fog of sleep still hung around her as she trudged into the Great Hall. The sounds and smells of breakfast overwhelmed her senses. The tantalizing scent of coffee wafted over to her. She needed coffee. Mindlessly, she moved forward towards the Gryffindor table, greeting people with empty “hellos” and “good mornings.”

She spotted Dean eating with Seamus towards the end of the table. They locked eyes. The memory of last night flooding her brain, a hand on her hip, his warm breath tickling her cheeks. Any haze of sleep remaining was cleared out. She took a steadying breath, reminding herself of his smirk and the glint in his eye. _He was teasing you, like he always does_ , she thought, taking a step forward.

The nagging point of that shift in his expression before he had begun to lean in tried to enter her thoughts, but she shook it away. If she acted funny because of him teasing her, how would that look? No. Everything was normal. Nothing had changed. She just needed to be herself.

Before she could reach the pair, Padma Patil called to her, marching up the table.

“I heard about last night. Professor Flitwick mentioned it this morning,” she said as she approached, her brow looking stern.

“That was quick,” Hermione said surprised. “Sorry about all of that.” Some prefects felt disrespected when others outside of their House deducted points, preferring the issues to be worked out between prefects. Furthermore, it was rare they had to correct Ravenclaws in such a severe manner, much less older students.

“Oh don’t apologize! I was coming to thank you for being lenient with them. I would have taken double what you did.” There was a sly smile on her face as if they were sharing in some sort of secret.

Hermione laughed in earnest. She didn’t know Padma as well as her sister but they got along well enough. They had even studied together a couple of times third year before Hermione had become completely inundated with schoolwork and time-travel. “Well hopefully they aren’t getting piled on too much. I know how it feels to lose so many points in one go for your House.”

“I think they’ll be alright,” she said, glancing towards the Ravenclaw table, glaring at the girls in question. “Anthony and I talked to them this morning. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know it’s been taken care of.”

With that she walked back to the Ravenclaw table, her dark long hair swishing behind her.

“What’d Padma want?” Seamus asked, feigning indifference once Hermione had joined them.

“Nothing important. Just prefect stuff.” Reaching for the carafe of coffee, she grabbed a mug and poured a healthy amount.

“You slept late,” Dean said, glancing up at her over his goblet. His voice was casual, but his eyes were guarded.

Did he think she was avoiding him? _Act normal_ , she reminded herself before correcting herself, thinking, _everything_ is _normal._ “Yeah, it was a late night.” She indicated vaguely towards the Ravenclaw table. “Like I said, prefect stuff.”

She regaled them with the story of the girls in the bathroom, leaving out the parts about Dean specifically.

“Love potions? Are those even legal?” Dean asked aghast, the tension between them forgotten.

“I mean most wizards aren’t crazy enough to _actually_ use them. Everyone knows it’s not real love,” Seamus said.

“They’re not illegal, but they should be.” Hermione said with a grumble.

“Where do Fred and George get off selling something like that? In the hands of teenagers, those are dangerous.” Dean was beside himself.

Hermione understood his perspective. In the Muggle world there were laws against rape and assault, and clear legal definitions of consent. In the wizarding world, there were some laws regarding the theft of agency in some instances (i.e. the Imperius Curse), but not in others. Early on, Hermione had accepted that you can’t always apply Muggle logic to the magical community.

A cup of coffee later and they were still debating the nuance of the crime and whether the severity of punishment should correlate with the strength of love potion.

Dean was laughing incredulously. “Wizards have no logic!”

Not knowing any other world but his own, Seamus took offense to this. Before Hermione could defend Dean’s position, a voice came from behind her, “Ms. Granger. Please come with me.”

She turned to see Professor McGonagall towering over her. Dean looked at her questioningly. She shrugged as she quickly got up to fall in step with Professor McGonagall. She wondered if this was about the incident last night. It was a case of contraband, which generally resulted in detention, but lately those were a dime a dozen with Fred and George launching new lines of products every few weeks. A meeting with the Deputy Headmistress seemed a bit severe.

They came to a sudden stop a few feet further down the table, leaving Hermione to almost stumble over her green tartan robes. “Ms. Weasley, you should come along as well.”

Ginny shot Hermione a curious glance, confusion displacing the recent coldness between them. Hermione shook her head, indicating that she didn’t know what was going on. Ginny’s face paled as she walked along with them. Hermione realized that the last time Professor McGonagall had pulled her aside was probably when her father had been attacked by Nagini. The slew of disappearances in the papers suddenly filled her mind and she felt a pit form in her stomach. As they stepped out into the entrance hall, that pit began to grow.

Professor McGonagall looked down at them, her pursed lips trembling slightly.

“I’m afraid it’s Mr. Weasley. He has been poisoned.”

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://www.blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/4/to-all-the-wizards-the-corridor).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Thanks for the kind words and patience. I hope you all enjoyed :).


	10. The Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a realization.

Zonko’s. They were talking about Zonko’s. Hermione’s nerves were so frazzled, she could barely contain her irritation. It had taken what little reserve of energy she had left to not hex Fred and George the moment they arrived in the hospital wing for selling love potions to minors.

It wasn’t just the twins. While they’d waited to be let in to see Ron, Harry and Ginny were wildly speculating about who could have poisoned him, almost as if it were a game to them. Gryffindors are known for jumping from danger into action, but staring down at Ron’s pale face, it didn’t feel like a game. According to both Harry and Madam Pomfrey, he looked much improved from earlier that day. Even still, seeing him like this filled Hermione with so much guilt she almost couldn’t bear it.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she watched his chest calmly rise and fall. She wondered how many times she had seen him in the hospital wing over the years. How much less scary those times seemed compared to now. Reading the news and watching students leave to be with their families, she knew the gravity of the situation. Bonds were important, now more than ever. Yet, still somehow, she had let the rift in her friendship with Ron expand, for something as trivial as hurt feelings.

Sniffing, she swiped at her nose with her sleeve. The twins were now puzzling with Harry and Ginny over who could be behind the attack. Laughably, their current prevailing theory was that it might be Slughorn’s doing.

“You said Slughorn had been planning to give that bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas,” Ginny reminded Harry. “So the poisoner could just as easily have been after him.”

“Then the poisoner didn’t know Slughorn very well,” Hermione said, her voice coming out croaky from disuse. It had been hours since she had last spoken to any of them, too wrapped up in her own guilt at being a poor friend to be of much company. “Anyone who knew Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he’d keep something that tasty for himself.”

Before she could continue sharing her thoughts on the likelihood of Katie and Ron’s attacks being connected, Ron spoke. “ _Er-my-nee_.”

It came out in a raspy whisper, so quiet she almost missed it. Hermione’s eyes widened, realizing what he was trying to say. They waited with baited breath for him to say something else. After a moment of muttering, he snored lightly, falling back to sleep. She could feel the group glancing at her, but resolutely she continued to gaze at Ron, refusing to let her expression give way to her confused emotions.

Thankfully, at that moment Hagrid walked in, distracting everyone and pulling Madam Pomfrey from her office. Ron’s face appeared more tranquil now that he had fallen into a more comfortable sleep. He had even regained a bit more color in his cheeks. Gingerly, she touched her own face, expecting to find it burning with the embarrassment she would generally feel, but it was now strangely absent. Her skin was cool to the touch, not flushed at all. Taking a deep breath out of habit, she was also surprised to find that there were no nerves to calm. It hadn’t been like that the last time.

—

It had been late in the evening, their first Friday back from summer break when she had found herself squinting at her Ancient Runes homework, trying to work out the advanced text Professor Blathers had assigned. The first week of classes had been harder than any of the other years previous. Hermione wasn’t surprised. This was to be expected, given that it was their first year in N.E.W.T. level courses.

Ron had spent the majority of the night moaning to Hermione about how unfair it was that Harry had weaseled his way out of studying to instead meet with Dumbledore. Periodically, she’d shake her head or roll her eyes from her spot on the floor, but for the most part she sat with her back against the couch, paying him no mind.

He had laid out, sprawled dramatically on the couch in despair, his open Transfiguration book covering his face as he groaned.

“Why do we ever come back from summer holidays? I’ve tried to talk Mum into homeschooling us all.”

“And with what time would she do that?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him skeptically.

He pulled the book off his face, sighing. Hermione’s eyes had widened, finding herself eye level with the blue-eyed freckle-faced boy, their faces inches apart. The detail of every freckle that sprinkled the bridge of his nose filled her vision. Her eyes had moved to meet his, to find him blinking at her, confused by her sudden demeanor. She whipped around with a squeak. If he noticed, he hadn’t said anything.

“Yeah, I s’pose you’re right. It’s better when it’s just us three. No school work.”

Trying to regain her composure, she scoffed, and without turning around said, “Speak for yourself.”

By the time she had finally translated all of the runes and checked them all for grammar, her back had formed a tight knot from hunching over to look so closely at the pages. She sat up and stretched, yawning as she did so. Looking around, she was surprised to find the common room completely emptied. The clock on the mantelpiece read ten past midnight.

“How strange. Harry still hasn’t come back yet. Do you think we should wait—“ her voice had gotten caught in her throat.

Behind her, she had found Ron, fast asleep, mouth half open, head lolling to the side, towards her, just inches away. Why hadn’t she moved earlier when she had realized how close they were to one another? Instinct told her to turn away, this was too close, but she couldn’t help but look just a little longer.

His red hair fell messily into his eyes, perfectly tousled and perfectly accidental. She felt the impulse to reach out and sweep the hair from his brow, but she resisted. Her breath hitched as he mumbled, shifting slightly away. She imagined what he could be dreaming of— _who_ he could be dreaming of.

She slammed her Ancient Runes textbook shut, heart hammering in her chest. _This is creepy, Hermione. Stop,_ she thought, chastising herself. Turning back around, she shut her eyes tightly, willing the thoughts away, far away. They were _friends_ , nothing more.

“W-wot happen’?” Ron asked groggily, slowly moving to get up, having been woken by the noise.

“I’m headed to bed. It’s past midnight,” she said briskly, gathering up the rest of her things. “You should be off to bed, too.”

He grunted in response, now sitting up, gathering the strength to head to the dormitories.

“Goodnight,” she said lightly, as she headed up the steps.

That night it would be an hour before her thundering heart and racing mind would calm enough to let her fall asleep.

—

Tearing her eyes from Ron, she turned her attention back to the group, ridding herself of her ruminations. Hagrid stood disheveled next to the bed in a puddle of his own making, dripping wet from the rain outside. They were discussing the possibility of the attacks being brought about by a sports rivalry. Both _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and _Hogwarts: A History_ discussed admittedly intense Quidditch rivalries throughout Hogwarts’ history, although none that had ever been deadly. Hermione wondered if she truly was the only one who ever read.

The thing the attacks did have in common, however, was that the method would have given someone from outside of Hogwarts access to Professor Dumbledore—first, the attack initiated in Hogsmeade, and now a gift to Professor Slughorn from an unknown source. It could have come from someone who wasn’t a student. This meant it could be any number of Death Eaters.

“It’s not Quidditch. But there is a connection between the attacks,” she said finally, after letting them go on about it for another moment.

“How d’you work that out?” Fred asked.

“For one thing, they both ought to have been fatal and they weren’t, although that was pure luck. And for another, neither item seems to have reached the person who was supposed to be killed.” An internal shiver gripped her as she finished, “Of course, that makes the person behind this even more dangerous, because they don’t seem to care how many people get hurt before they reach their actual victim.”

The group exchanged dark looks as they pondered Hermione’s words. Before anyone could respond, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned. Mrs. Weasley made a beeline for Harry, cutting through the tension, enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug. Hermione looked away, uncomfortable for her friend, who she knew found praises for his bravery distressing. Mrs. Weasley was lavishing him with gratitude for saving Ron. Hermione, of course, was grateful to Harry and his having miraculously remembered the bezoar. But she knew better than to tell him that.

Madam Pomfrey came to his rescue, bustling in and tsking as she went. “I think I made it perfectly clear you lot, no more than six guests per patient!”

Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid took the opportunity to bid their leave, allowing the Weasleys more time with Ron.

It ended up being quite late once Harry and Hermione finally approached the corridor leading to the Fat Lady’s portrait. They had a near run-in with Mr. Filch on their way back after stopping to speak with Hagrid, who had he confided that he had seen Dumbledore and Snape arguing.

“I _know_ it’s odd Harry, but Professor Dumbledore is a very capable wizard. Whatever is going on between him and Snape is none of our business,” Hermione insisted as they rounded the corner.

“Fine. Even if Snape isn’t up to something, why would Dumbledore want him to investigate someone in his own House? It has to be Mal—“

“Do you know how often I take points away from Slytherins who think they’re being clever and are going to get away with breaking the rules?” she asked, throwing her hands into the air, exasperatedly. “They’re too cunning for their own good. He could be asking Snape to investigate his House for a myriad of reasons!”

Harry looked at her skeptically but couldn’t argue because, as they turned into Gryffindor Tower, they came across Peeves the Poltergeist. To their displeasure, Peeves was wailing a loud lament:

_Prithee Potter, tell me please_

_What rotten rascal wrecked our King_

_Won-Won Weasley wanted not_

_The potente potion he had got_

His voice reverberated off the walls, loud and drawn, ringing in their ears. They ran down the final corridor, trying to escape, with Peeves chasing behind.

“ _Mimbulus mimbletonia_!” Hermione shouted at the Fat Lady.

She swung open and they dashed in, panting as the portrait slammed behind them, Peeves’ muffled dirge still sounding from behind.

“Peeves,” Harry said with a growl of frustration. “Reckon it was too much to hope that we could keep the news to ourselves for one evening.”

They walked further into the common room to find it mostly quiet. A murmur of laughter and whispers filled the room as people huddled around their study materials together. One group was playing exploding snap by the fireplace—a normal Saturday night.

“Hmm, it looks like Peeves’ new tune hasn’t spread quite this far. I suppose he must have just heard the news seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley leave Professor Dumbledore’s office,” Hermione said intuitively.

Harry acknowledged this to likely be true, exhaling in relief, his shoulders slouched, closing his dark-circled eyes. The exhaustion she saw in him made her feel her own more keenly. With a yawn and a stretch, she bid him goodnight. He nodded wordlessly, patting her on the back as he made his way over to his own dormitory.

The clock in the girl’s dormitory chimed. It was 11 o’clock already. The clouds outside obscured the moon, dousing the room in darkness. _Lumos_ , she thought. Gingerly, she made her way over to her bed, not wanting to disturb anyone. Quickly, she shed her clothes, feeling the weight of the day’s worries come off with them. She slipped into her nightgown and pulled back her hangings.

Pausing, she turned her unseeing eyes to Lavender’s bed. _Someone should tell her about Ron_. She was Ron’s girlfriend, after all. In the chaos of the day, it hadn’t occurred to any of them to look for her. Hermione grimaced. Lavender really cared for Ron, and everyone seemed to think of her as some sort of joke. The irony wasn’t lost on Hermione that their relationship, as messy as it was, was more legitimate than her own contractual one.

She moved her wand to Lavender’s bed, tiptoeing across the room to wake her. The glow of her wand fell onto the bed and she was surprised to find it empty. Turning around, she found that Parvati’s bed was also empty. Sighing, she flicked her wand, extinguishing the tip and lighting the torches on the wall. She would have to wait for them.

With a flop, she fell on her bed, leaving the hangings open. To her surprise, Crookshanks sprung up to join her. Generally, at this time of night, he’d be strolling about the castle. Noiselessly, he padded over straight to the spot next to her head, and making no significant acknowledgement to her presence, he curled up beside her. She chuckled to herself. He generally preferred his own space.

“What a clever cat you are,” she whispered as she reached up to scratch his back. He must have been able to sense her stress.

Staring up at the canopy of her bed, she felt something Hagrid had mentioned in their conversation on the way back from the hospital wing nagging her.

_“Wha’ worries me is how long Hogwarts can stay open if kids are bein’ attacked…next thing yeh know the board o’ governors…”_

Surely they couldn’t close the school now. Where else could be safer for Muggle-borns than Hogwarts right now? This was different than the Chamber of Secrets. These attacks were coming from outside, or at the very least were being directed from the outside. Nowhere in _Hogwarts: A History_ did it mention a board of governors, and certainly no entity besides the Headmaster, with such jurisdiction over the running of Hogwarts. Not even the Ministry could easily meddle in the running the school, though it was subsidized. Even then, the Ministry wasn’t made up of people who had bought power and influence to exert over the school.

Lucius Malfoy, while ousted from the board, had more than likely made sure to seat as many like-minded individuals on it as he could in his time. He and his subordinates would love to expel the Muggle-borns and blood traitors from the school. It would make it easier to get to them outside of the castle walls. She shuddered at the thought. If there was anything she hated, it was feeling powerless.

Crookshanks began to purr in his sleep, a comforting sound. She wasn’t powerless, she tried to remind herself. She had a rough idea of a plan if she were to leave. Being of age, she could join the Order. Maybe she could help Dean get his family into hiding if there was time. If anything, leaving now might buy them time, which felt invaluable with so much uncertainty hanging around them.

 _I wonder if they’d let us take our exams before closing the school_ , she thought, her mind growing listless. She closed her eyes and smiled, _I suppose they could just send them home with us_.

Thoughts of practice problems and essay prompts then began to fill her mind, and her exhaustion finally claimed her, lulling her into a dreamless sleep.

—

Things overall were much improved the next day. Sunlight was shining through the castle windows and Ron had woken up. He still felt “a bit peaky” as he put it, but his color had mostly returned and Madam Pomfrey thought he was largely out of the woods. She insisted he stay for a few more days to monitor for any lasting effects while he rested and regained his strength.

Hermione and Harry spent their entire Sunday with Ron, happy to see him returned to his usual self. At first, it felt a little awkward. She and Ron instinctively moved cautiously around each other, not wanting to trigger any past arguments or upsets. Their worry was unnecessary though. As the days passed, they found themselves falling back into their old selves. If anything, they both just seemed relieved to not be fighting anymore.

Dean visited that Sunday, late in the morning. The whole school now knew about Ron’s poisoning. He was waiting for her outside of the hospital wing, his face was grim, taut with concern. Despite his expression, she felt a warmth tickling her stomach, a wide grin spreading across her face. After so much stress, she almost felt relieved to see his friendly face.

“I heard what happened. Are you alright?” he asked, pulling her into a hug.

She froze in surprise at the sincere gesture. The pleasant scent of bergamot filled her nose. Embarrassed, she pushed him away, laughing at his earnestness. “Yes. I’m fine!” She didn’t dare say the truth, which was that she felt great. It was freeing to no longer have to tread lightly around Ron and to have her friend back. And now Dean was here, and that somehow made everything even better.

“Are you sure?” he asked, holding her out at arm’s length, examining her.

She huffed, exasperated. “I’m _fine._ ” The memory of Ron’s “ _Er-my-nee”_ entered her mind, but she shook that from her head. “It’s a lot to process. But I’m happy he’s alright.”

Dean looked her over for another moment before deciding for himself that she did in fact look mostly fine.

“Here,” he said, digging in the pockets of his robes. He pulled out two muffins wrapped in a napkin. “I didn’t see you or Harry at breakfast so I nicked these. You need to make sure you come down for lunch and eat.”

She took the muffins, smiling appreciatively, the warm feeling in her stomach filling her whole chest. “Right. I will.”

“So everything going alright with him then?” He indicated at the door.

“Ron? Yes, I think so. I think we’re mostly back to normal, all things considered.”

Strangely, Dean pursed his lips at this. “Are you really going to let him off the hook for how he’s treated you this year?”

She looked at him, shocked. “He was _poisoned_!”

“Yes,” he said, brushing a stray curl off her shoulder, “but does that excuse his behavior from before?”

Tilting her head, she looked at him for a moment. He wasn’t judging her. By his raised eyebrows, she could tell he was truly asking her. She bit her lip, unsure of how to respond.

“I should go,” he finally said, glancing back at the door.

“Oh! Do you want to come in? I don’t think they’d mind.” It hadn’t occurred to her to invite him in. Would that be weird for Ron? It hadn’t been something she had to navigate since the inception of their scheme, since they hadn’t been on speaking terms.

He shook his head with a slight smile. “Nah, I’m fine. Finish catching up,” he nudged her lightly towards the door. “I’ve got a Charms essay to finish.”

His words stayed with her for the rest of the week. _Was_ she letting Ron off too easy? Their argument didn’t seem that important to her in light of the situation.

They didn’t have time to discuss it any further as the week wore on. Cormac was joining the Quidditch team as an alternate. In preparation for Saturday’s match against Hufflepuff, Harry had booked the Quidditch pitch the entire week whenever there was availability. This meant Dean spent much of his free time with the team at practice. Hermione used this time to catch up on her homework, do her hair, and play with Crookshanks, the two latter of which she had been neglecting. When the team wasn’t at practice, she and Harry were in the hospital wing with Ron.

Their misaligned schedules, for some inexplicable reason, made Hermione sad. Dean didn’t seem upset. To the contrary, they still walked hand-in-hand to classes together and he sketched her more pictures of Crookshanks to cheer her up. He asked about Ron and seemed concerned on her behalf for his well-being. Even though he didn’t seem to be bothered by the time apart, she still couldn’t help but think about him.

Without him or Harry around in her free time, she found friends were light on the ground. The mood in her dormitory had been quite frosty. After falling asleep the night of Ron’s poisoning, she had forgotten all about telling Lavender what had happened. After finding out through the general rumor mill about Ron’s incident, she was rightfully upset. What Hermione felt wasn’t fair was how cold she’d been towards her since then, despite having long since forgiven Harry.

The silver lining about having such a busy week was that the weekend was upon them more quickly than usual. During her free period that Friday, she lugged her book bag up the stairs to the hospital wing. All week, she had taken diligent notes and collected Ron’s assignments, determined that he shouldn’t fall behind in class.

The hospital wing was still mostly empty when she arrived. Ron looked over to her as she entered, his face lighting up at the sight of her. Then his eyes fell on her book bag, bulging at the seams even more than usual, and his face fell.

Without greeting, she set the bag at the foot of his bed and began to pull out folders and stacks of parchment.

“Most people just bring chocolate or some flowers, ya know?”

She pointedly ignored him. “I’ve organized your assignments in these folders. They’re organized by color. And these,” she handed him a large stack of parchment, “are my notes for you to study. I did my best to underline and note important bits. Muggle highlighters don’t work on parchment or else I would—“

He groaned dramatically and threw himself back on the bed, discarding the notes to the side. “Was the poison not punishment enough?”

“Oh stop being dramatic,” she chastised as she sat down.

They sat in silence for a moment, Ron still laying back with his eyes closed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. I reckon I could fly tomorrow, but Pomfrey wants me through the weekend,” he said dejectedly without opening his eyes.

“Cormac would be crushed,” she said sarcastically. His eyes flew open, surprised at the joke. They both laughed, enjoying poking fun at Cormac.

Once they lapsed back into silence, it dawned on Hermione that this was the first time that they’d been alone together in a long time—the first time since the note. She could feel heat threatening to rise to her cheeks.

As if he were practiced in Legilimency, he spoke. “Are we ever going to talk about that note you sent me, Hermione?”

She closed her eyes, hoping that maybe when she opened them she wouldn’t be here. Of course, she knew they wouldn’t be able to avoid the topic forever, but still she had faintly hoped. The familiar feeling of mortification seeped into her skin. Dean wasn’t here to get her out of this one now.

Sighing she opened her eyes, carefully choosing her words. “There isn’t much to talk about. You were never supposed to read it. But it’s fine because it doesn’t matter. I wrote that so long ago, really. Nothing to worry about,” she said in a rush. “Besides, I’m dating Dean now and you’re dating Lavender…” She trailed off, unsure of what else to say, praying he’d drop it.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” The emotion in his voice and his searching eyes made her want to disappear. She wondered if a Summoning Charm would work on the Invisibility Cloak. “Maybe I didn’t want to date Lavender.”

He sighed, months of frustration etched on his features. He rubbed his hands over his face, looking conflicted.

Stunned into silence, it took her a moment to collect herself. Surely he couldn’t be suggesting what she thought he was. Instead of the joy or excitement that she would have expected to feel at such a statement, panic filled her. This couldn’t be happening, not now. He wanted to know why she had never told him, but why hadn’t _he_ told _her_? Why now, when it was too late?

She exhaled, surprised by her own thoughts but finding that there was truth in them. It was too late and it had been for weeks now, maybe even months. When had it changed? When had she stopped hoping for this exact outcome? He opened his eyes, looking at her expectantly, in a way that once might have sent butterflies through her stomach.

“You’re one of my best friends. I wrote that note as a silly way to work through my feelings a long time ago. If they were something you needed to be concerned with, I’d tell you,” she said honestly.

His expression clouded over, unreadable. He nodded solemnly, understanding what she meant. At that moment, the hospital wing doors swung open. Turning around, Hermione’s eyes landed on Lavender. Her face screwed into a scowl at the sight of Hermione sitting at Ron’s bedside.

“How long have you been up and what is she doing here?” Lavender asked in an accusatory tone as she strode up to the bed.

Seeing her opportunity to escape, Hermione gathered her things and stood up to leave.

“Wait, Hermione, you can stay,” Ron said, looking at her insistently.

“No, I really ought to be going. I have prefect duty tonight,” she said through a fake smile.

Walking as quickly as she could without breaking out into a full-out run, she left, letting the door shut on the now arguing couple. She clutched her chest, her heart racing, too stunned to move. Blinking, she looked around, her reality feeling changed somehow. She no longer had feelings for Ron. The opposite had been true for so long, the idea of not having feelings for him felt funny in her brain.

But there was no denying it. Her lack of quickened pulse, her lack of warm cheeks, it all pointed to one thing. Her plan had worked, in part anyway. She had distracted herself right out of her heartbreak.

Her hand dropped from her chest, her heart slowing back to a normal pace. If she was over Ron, and Ron understood that the note now meant nothing, that meant the whole scheme with Dean would soon be coming to an end.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/4/to-all-the-wizards-the-recovery).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Apologies for my long absence. Things have been quite hectic. I've since last posting moved, started a new job, got another new job! I've been reading all of your kind comments. Hopefully I'll have time now to actually get back to all of you! :)


	11. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione begins to spiral.

The mood throughout the castle the next day was one of excitement. It was the first Quidditch match since before the holidays, and it had brought with it excellent weather. Golden shafts of sunlight shined onto the grounds through the patchy clouds. Hermione walked down to the pitch hand-in-hand with Dean, behind the rest of the Gryffindor team.

They chatted amicably about the past week. Having seen each other only sporadically between practices, hospital wing visits, and classes, it was nice having time to catch up.

“The Chasers have a bet going on about who can score the most goals,” Dean said excitedly.

“And what do you get if you win?”

“The other two are in charge of cleaning the winner's uniform and routine maintenance on their broom for the rest of the season.”

Hermione laughed. “Sounds like you’re about to spend the next few months getting good at laundry charms, then.”

He slung his arm around her, pulling her in tight in a faux head-lock. “You don’t think I can score the most goals?”

“I think,” she said laughing, pushing herself free from his grip, “That Ginny is a whiz at getting out of chores. There’s no way she’s wagered taking on extra unless she’s confident.”

Stopping in his tracks, he feigned shock at her hurtful words. She giggled and ran forward towards the changing rooms. He chased after her, pushing past the rest of the team, catching her around the waist.

“Take it back.”

“I am rooting for you! I just think we should go in with evidence-based expectations.”

He scoffed and looked towards Demelza and Ginny, who were entering the changing rooms behind them. “I can take them on.”

“Sure you can,” she said, conceding, an amused grin still on her face. She made a move to disentangle herself but he stopped her.

“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” He was looking at her expectantly.

“Good luck,” she said, watching him cautiously. He had that glint in his eye again—the look that made a giggle bubble in her chest and fairies float in her stomach.

Turning his cheek to her, he tapped it, demanding a token of her well wishes. She rolled her eyes and flicked him on his cheek. He grasped it in shock.

“Ow!”

“Fly well!” she called back as she spun and walked away, heading towards the stands. Turning back to glance at him one last time, she saw him still cupping his cheek and shaking his head.

The Quidditch stands were filled to capacity. It seemed the whole school was keen to soak up the weather after the drawn-out period of rain they’d experienced.

“If we do as well as we did last match, we’ll be in the lead for the Cup,” Seamus said excitedly to her, waving his Gryffindor pennant around. The players had just taken off at the sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle.

Seamus had arrived early and chosen their seats strategically, to Hermione’s dismay. Glancing down two rows, she saw the unmistakable head of curly brown hair sitting next to two identical manes of lustrous dark hair. Seamus’ campaign to charm Padma was still in full effect and wasn’t _not_ working, Hermione had to grant him. He took every opportunity he reasonably could to situate himself in Padma’s vicinity.

Both Padma and Parvati were wearing matching, sparkling Gryffindor themed bows in their half-ponies. Hermione wanted to ask them where they had bought them, thinking she might like one of her own next match. But they were sitting with Lavender, who had immediately met her with a glare when Hermione had walked past them to her seat.

“And that’s Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle,” the unmistakable dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood floated through the stands. Many laughed, others craned their necks to get a better look at the commentator’s podium to confirm it was really in fact her. “Ginny Weasley flew into him, I think probably on purpose, it looked like it. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor, I expect he regrets that now he’s playing them…”

Hermione’s eyes darted up the field to see Ginny speeding away from Zacharias Smith. The Quaffle was in her grip and she was zipping up the pitch with a determined look on her face. In a surprise move though, a Hufflepuff Chaser came from below and snatched the Quaffle out of her hands.

“Oh someone has stolen the ball from Ginny. I can’t remember his name, it’s something like Bibble—no Baggins,” Luna’s voice drifted overhead.

“It’s Caldwallader!” Professor McGonagall’s said loudly in her stern Scottish accent, but her words were drowned out by the laughter of the crowd.

Hermione did not laugh. Ginny’s face looked murderous as she set her sights on Caldwallader. They were lucky that Ginny didn’t have her wand on her, even from that distance she could land a nasty Bat-Bogey hex when pressed.

“And Harry Potter’s now having an argument with his Keeper.”

“Oi, what’s that git going on about in the middle of the match!” Seamus called out gesturing to Cormac. He put his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Call a timeout, Harry!”

Of course Harry did not hear this or heed the advice, but Hermione did notice Padma glance up towards Seamus as she flipped a long strand of her hair over her shoulder, slightly amused.

This match was not going well. Down field, Hermione saw Dean flying next to Ginny, who was nodding resolutely. They must have agreed to run some sort of play since Harry was currently too preoccupied to call a timeout. Hermione watched their interaction intently. That she could tell, Ginny’s expression was neutral. Dean’s face was alight with excitement, but she couldn’t tell if that was from talking with Ginny or from the game.

Ginny was extremely competitive, so all of her focus would be directed to the match. But still, if she still had feelings for Dean, wouldn’t they be a bit more apparent? _I suppose being able to work with him as well as she does could mean...mean what?_ she thought. Ginny, who often wore her heart on her sleeve, had become so unreadable in regards to her feelings about Dean or Harry.

Hermione hadn’t told Dean about her revelation about Ron, in part because there hadn’t been time, but also because she decided that it would feel like gloating. Part of her wanted to just ask Ginny about her feelings on his behalf and get it over with. Another, quieter part dreaded any conversation of that sort.

Cheers erupted as Dean deftly feinted from Ginny to Demelza, who dived, catching the Quaffle from mid-air, leaving the Hufflepuff Chasers stunned as she sped away. The Hufflepuff Beaters chased after her in yellow blurs. Ginny and Dean smiled at each other, whooping at their success as Demelza scored the goal.

Smiling, she stood to cheer with the rest of the stands. Keeping their ruse up a little longer wasn’t so wrong was it? There was no way to know definitively what Ginny was feeling, and it was up to Dean to figure that out on his own. Which, for whatever reason, he didn’t seem to be that pressed to look further into, and that was fine by her.

She smiled, watching Dean swoop and loop as the Quaffle was thrown back into play. Suddenly, however, the cheering faltered, everyone’s attention drawn by Harry speeding, not towards the Snitch, but to Cormac, shouting what Hermione could only guess were choice words. Not yet seeing him, Cormac swung Peakes’ bat at the oncoming Bludger. Then Harry was falling and everyone was screaming.

—

Everything turned out to be fine in the end. What’s a cracked skull to healer’s magic? Gryffindor had lost the match, but Harry got to keep his skull and they were still second in line for the Cup. The next few days, as their Quidditch Captain lay languishing, as it was told, in the hospital wing, many threats had been made on Cormac McLaggen’s life. Hermione, for her part as a prefect, found it all to be very barbaric. Yet, even she couldn’t help becoming suddenly distracted in the moments when these threats were made, causing her to _accidentally_ overlook the perpetrators.

“Has anyone knocked McLaggen’s teeth out yet?” Ron grumbled the next evening as Hermione sat between her two friends’ bedsides.

“Hmm, not to my knowledge. You would have seen him here if that had happened I should think,” she said absentmindedly, pondering over the last few lines of the letter she had written to her parents.

“Whose idea was it to take N.E.W.T.s level Transfiguration, again? I’d like to send a Howler with my thoughts,” Ron said as he threw his essay to the side, falling back on the bed. “I can’t believe McGonagall won’t give me an extension. I was _poisoned_!”

Hermione glanced in concern at Harry, whose slack sleeping form surprisingly remained unmoved by Ron’s sudden outburst.

“Oh don’t worry about him. He’ll be out for a while. Pomfrey gave him a sleeping draught,” Ron said very matter-of-factly.

Sitting up straighter, now concerned, she turned her full attention to Harry. Madam Pomfrey had made it sound like he was nearly fully recovered. Looking at him now, his sleeping face looked peaceful, the bandages around his head from the day before had now been reduced to a simple gauze pad over a cut. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“Wrong? Nothing. I told Pomfrey he’d said he was having trouble sleeping, so she made him take the potion. He wouldn’t stop moaning about Malfoy so I thought he could do with a few winks.”

Hermione spun around to face him in shock. They stared at each other for a moment, her face incredulous, his fixed in a mischievous smirk, before they both burst out into laughter. It was good to have a friend with whom she could share simple things again — like exasperation at their other deluded friend. Hermione had worried that after addressing the note, everything would change or that things might be awkward. Ron, however, didn’t seem bothered. She guessed he figured it was better to be back as friends than nothing and dropped it.

After the moment of levity passed, Ron glanced back at his homework and pushed it away in disgust, as if even the sight of it made him sick. Hermione skimmed over her letter one more time and, deciding it was good, began folding it to address it.

“Couldn’t you just look it over?” he asked with feigned innocence, holding his essay out to her.

“Ronald,” she said with a warning tone, not looking up from her quill as she addressed the letter.

“What if I promised to not tell Harry you wrote me a love note third year?”

Hermione spluttered, letter forgotten. Ron looked at her and began to laugh, pleased with his own joke. “Third year? What makes you think I wrote it then?”

“Well,” he said, scratching his chin for effect, “firstly, no one our age or older would write that girly of a note, so it had to have been a while ago. Secondly, you were constantly emotional that year. I remember you wouldn’t stop fighting with me. Fred and George told me that fighting is how girls show they like you. I just never believed them.”

Doing her best to hide her surprise at his sudden introspection, she said, “Oh, did they? Either way, I’m not doing your essay for you.”

“Fine, what if I promise never to bring up the note again, at all?”

Their eyes met. This was a test disguised as a joke. She could feel that he was offering her something. His eyes looked at her hopefully, willing her to say what he wanted to hear. She shifted her gaze away, snatching the essay out of his grasp. “Fine. Deal. I’ll look it over.”

As she shuffled the pages, organizing them, she looked back at him. His neck and ears were red, but he was leaned back against his pillows, arms behind his head, looking otherwise unperturbed.

“Man it would kill Cormac to know that not only am I coming back on as Keeper, but that I’m one of two guys to get love notes from Hermione Granger.”

Furrowing her brows she tilted her head in confusion. “But you—“ she cut herself off, realizing he didn’t know about the other notes. He opened his eyes at her pause. “You are right. You and Viktor.” She laughed airily.

“Still might knock some of his teeth out, mind. Is he mad? Could have killed Harry,” he said, quickly adding, “Don’t you go on saying ‘you’re a Prefect, Ronald.’ That’s why it’s gotta be me. It’ll be interest for the detention McGonagall should have issued.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but laughed all the same, grateful for the subject change and that he was done teasing her.

At that moment, Ginny entered, her hair in a messy bun and wearing an oversized sweatshirt. “Late post from Mum,” she said by way of explanation, looking between the two of them. She held out a wrapped parcel to Ron.

Hermione, remembering her letter, jumped up, looking at her watch. “I should really be going. I lost track of the time! I need to get all the way to the Owlery before curfew so I can send this off.” Ron looked ready to protest but she shook her head as she gathered her things. “I’ll look over this,” she shook the pages of his Transfiguration essay, “tonight and give it back to you with corrections tomorrow.”

“Ah, you’re the best,” he said, smiling sincerely at her. She paused a moment, though now accepting the change in her feelings, still trying to adjust to the lack of familiar butterflies she had become accustomed to his smile inducing.

“No problem. See you tomorrow,” she said, waving at the two from over her shoulder.

As she exited, she heard Ginny begin to nag Ron about the lack of effort he’d made in keeping in touch with Mrs. Weasley over the last two months. “She’s constantly nagging me to remind you of stuff. Just write to her!”

“What’s got your tea-cloth in a knot, then?”

Just as Hermione was about to pull the hospital wing doors shut, she heard Ginny groan in frustration and paused. “Dean. He’s an idiot. We just had a fight.” Hermione froze. “Never mind that, it’s dumb. I’m taking these.” She heard rummaging. Mrs. Weasley must have sent a tin of assorted sweets.

Dean and Ginny had fought. That was strange. That she knew of, they hadn’t spoken to each other directly by themselves since they broke up. For some reason, this made Hermione feel uncomfortable. What could they have possibly fought over all of the sudden? She knew there could only be one answer. But if so, what did that mean? She shut her eyes tight, trying to remind herself that what happened between them in their relationship wasn’t her business. Quietly, she pulled the hospital wing door shut.

Her hopes of putting her mind at ease by sitting with Dean and lounging in the common room till late were quickly dashed. He wasn’t in the common room that night, and no one had seen him all evening. Trying to convince herself that he had probably just turned in early, she did as well.

This was all well and good, but then he was also nowhere to be found the next morning. On weekdays, he generally waited for her in the common room if he didn’t get up early to post a letter to his mum. _What gives?_ It wasn’t like Dean to avoid her. If he was avoiding her, then why? Had his and Ginny’s fight really confirmed what she’d long suspected and recently come to worry about? If it had, he might be avoiding her because he knew he’d have to end their agreement.

These thoughts consumed her as she met Harry and Ron upon their release from the hospital wing. They ran into Luna, who had a note for Harry from Dumbledore and she was so preoccupied she didn’t even manage to say “hello.” She couldn’t even bring herself to feel guilty when at the bottom of the marble staircase appeared a livid Lavender, apparently upset that she didn’t know Ron was being released today and somehow Hermione had.

As she and Harry strode off towards the Great Hall, leaving the bickering couple behind, her mind was now swirling rapidly. Of course, ending things with Dean was always going to be tricky. But along the way they had never considered what it would mean. They had spent months in each other’s company now. Would they no longer be friends? It would definitely have to end when Dean admitted to her the conversation he had with Ginny and she admitted that she no longer had feelings for Ron. There was no reason to continue. Still, the prospect of no longer having a reason to spend time with him like they had been bothered her.

All of this fell away, however, when they entered the Great Hall and heard a rousing cry of “Oi, Potter!” rise above the clattering of plates and goblets from the Gryffindor table. Many of their housemates stood cheering to see their captain fully recovered. Among them were Seamus and Dean who were standing and clapping, waving them over. If Dean was avoiding her or feeling upset at all, he wasn’t showing it.

Harry waved at everyone, smiling, ignoring the attempted counter of “boos” emitting from the Slytherin table. They sat down, Harry next to Seamus, and she next to Dean. He smiled down at her, as he always did, his dimples and bright grin sending a flutter through her chest.

“Alright then, Harry?” Dean asked, turning his attention away from Hermione.

“Yeah. Pomfrey said it wasn’t the first cracked skull she’d had to mend after a Quidditch match.”

They laughed and Seamus gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Glad you’re better mate. Gave the whole pitch a right scare.”

Everything was normal. Better than normal in fact. There wasn’t any tension when later Hermione glanced over to Ron, who for his part looked put out, and Lavender sitting on the other side of the table. Dean also didn’t seem to be any more aware of Ginny’s exuberant face amongst her friends further down the table either. It was irritating. Why did everything seem fine if he had been avoiding her and if Ginny and he had truly fought last night?

“Yeah I’ve never seen Hermione like that. She’s not athletic but she tore through the stands to get to the hospital wing before anyone else had thought to move.” Seamus said in amusement.

Harry grimaced in apology.

“It looked just awful!” she said. “I’ve told you that sport is much too dangerous.”

The rest of breakfast went on with her nagging and the boys defending him. She couldn’t shake her annoyance and was trying her best to pour it into other outlets. Was Dean even planning on telling her about the fight or was he just going to end it without explanation? She really regretted not demanding to better map out the end in the contract. Hermione didn't do well with unknowns. She needed plans and lists.

By the time she and Dean were on their way to Ancient Runes, Hermione was fully in a foul mood. She was annoyed because she couldn’t figure out why she felt as if she were being played for a fool. It wasn’t her business if he and Ginny had fought, talked, or even admitted their feelings to each other, not really. That was the goal from the onset. However, she did feel she was owed at least the courtesy of him telling her before Ginny ran off planting ideas about the state of her relationship or the behavior of her boyfriend in Ron’s mind.

“I’m glad Ron and Harry are out of the hospital wing. It was really cutting into our schedule.” He shifted her book bag on his shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah.”

His smirk faltered, confused by her abrupt answer. “Everything alright?”

In a huff, she blew a curl out of her face. “Sure. I’m fine.”

He pulled her to a stop, grasping her arms to face him. “See, I knew something was off at breakfast. What’s going on?” His eyes were searching hers as if the answer would broadcast from her mind straight into his.

“You know, you look quite happy today. Chipper almost,” she said irritably. If he was confused before, now he was certainly at a loss. “When were you planning on telling me that you were off secretly fighting with your ex-girlfriend last night?”

He gaped at her. “Are you _mad_ at me?” he asked, clearly taken aback. “We weren’t meeting in secret, we just got into a fight. I didn’t think it was a big deal,” he said with a shrug.

“She told Ron! And then you have the nerve to show up to breakfast acting as if everything was completely normal. Do you know how that looks for me? My boyfriend is going around fighting with his ex-girlfriend and then doesn’t even tell me about it! Ron probably thinks I’m a complete idiot.” She pushed his hands away from her arms and crossed hers over her chest.

“I’m lost, Hermione. Are you mad because I didn’t tell you about it right away or because I was alone with Ginny?” His eyebrows were raised and he was looking at her suspiciously. She didn’t like the way his eyes were appraising her, like they were seeing everything.

She looked away, hugging her arms closer to herself, suddenly conscious of the students staring at them as they passed. It hadn’t occurred to her how loudly they were talking. Without a word in response, she moved further down the hall, finding a spot out of the way of passers-by between a large pillar and the wall. He followed reluctantly.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she said, “I’m not mad, just frustrated. I must have looked so ridiculous to Ron and Ginny.” She shook her head, cutting off his response before sighing. “I think this is the answer we were looking for anyway.”

“I feel like I’m in the _Twilight Zone._ You can’t actually be fighting with me, too. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it was that serious. Isn’t the whole point of this for Ginny and I to figure out our feelings and you to prove to Ron you’re indifferent to him?” His eyes were searching hers again. He bent down so that he was eye-level with her. Stubbornly, she turned her face away.

“Yes, that is the point. I just would have rather heard about it from you,” she said begrudgingly.

“I haven’t seen you,” he said with an incredulous chuckle. “I really wasn’t hiding it from you. We’re a team. You’ve just been rather busy.”

Meeting his eye she felt herself giving in, her indignation slowly being replaced by embarrassment. Even if he had been meeting with Ginny in secret, what a gross overreaction on her part. She had even told herself this wasn’t her business but here she was acting like a girlfriend with hurt feelings.

Sighing again, she said, “You’re right. Sorry. It must be the stress like you said. I don’t know why I overreacted like that. That is the point of it all.”

He exhaled in relief. “Thank Merlin. Because honestly, I was at a loss. How does one fight with a fake-girlfriend, anyway?”

She chuckled with him half-heartedly. “About that, this being the point of it all. I think this is probably proof enough that Ginny must have some sort of feelings for you—“ he tried to cut her off but she held up her hand, pressing forward, “and I’m still kind of sorting it out for myself, but I've realized I don’t have feelings for Ron anymore. I think that spells mission accomplished for both of us, pretty much.”

“You don’t have feelings for Ron anymore,” he repeated slowly, trying to comprehend her words.

She shrugged, glancing down at her feet. “I’m not sure when it happened. It’s still a bit complicated, but he wanted to talk about the note and instead of feeling excited, I didn’t feel anything,” she looked up at him. His eyes were staring intently at her as if he’d just discovered something fascinating. “Now with Ginny and you talking at least, I was thinking we should start moving towards ending things. It’d be easiest to let things ‘naturally’ come to their conclusion over Easter Holiday.”

This snapped him out of his thoughts. “No we can’t,” he said, voice firm. “There’s another match to go and Katie still isn’t back. The contract clearly states you’d attend _all_ of my matches. So we have to keep it up at least until the end of the Quidditch season.”

“Dean—“

“Nope, I’m not letting you reason your way out of this. I’ve seen what happens to people who don’t hold up their end of a written contract with you. How do I know you won’t hex me?”

Hermione gave an indignant cry. “I didn’t hex this one! Why would I?”

“Regardless,” he said, waving her off, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Ginny, it won’t happen again. If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.” He held out his hand to her, looking at her expectantly.

She watched him warily, but couldn’t ignore the leaping in her chest, relieved at an excuse to go on.

“Alright then,” she said, taking his hand.

The bell rang, signaling they were late for class. But for the first time ever, Hermione didn’t think she cared.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](https://blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/4/to-all-the-wizards-the-fight).


	12. The Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione realizes she has a problem.

_Heart racing, sweaty palms, blushing,_ Hermione ticked off things on the list she’d mentally been keeping, _and the butterflies!_

She had run through this same list several times over the last couple of days. So much so, that it was invading her dreams. She rolled over, pulling her red patterned quilt over her head, attempting to hide from the shaft of light streaming in through the gap in the bed hangings. There was no getting around it. There was really only one explanation for her embarrassing outburst.

At first, she couldn’t understand what in Merlin’s name could have made her snap at Dean like that. She had never been so worked up about a boy, over something so trivial. But if that were true, when had her feelings changed? The list echoed in her mind, “ _heart racing, sweaty palms, blushing—”_ she groaned into her pillow, feeling her face go red.

She had tried being rational, but over the last few days even a glance from Dean would twist her stomach into knots. They had an _agreement_ , she tried to remind herself. This was unprofessional and she felt mortified.

Flopping back over and throwing the covers off, she huffed, blowing a wild tendril of hair out of her face.

“Calm and steady,” she murmured to herself.

There was no need to be _this_ dramatic. He had made it very clear that he wanted to see their vague contractual terms through. It wouldn’t be fair of her to run away with her feelings now. Every now and again, she would catch him looking at Ginny with a furrowed brow, looking conflicted. This grounded her, reminding her that she had a job to do.

With a snort she thought, _Worst case scenario, I'll just make a new list and get a new fake boyfriend to get over this one._

Sighing, she sat up and threw open the hangings. She could do this. She had faced worse, hadn’t she?

—

If the disconcerting revelation of her own feelings hadn’t been enough, being friendly again with Ron, rather than bringing some relief, had brought further stress upon her current state of affairs. Neither Ron nor Dean liked to be around when the other was near. She assumed Ron’s reasoning was a mixture of a sense of pride and his usual stubbornness.

Dean, however, made his feelings plain. He didn’t approve of her renewed friendship with Ron. While it was flattering that he cared about anything she did, it was creating tension that even Seamus couldn’t miss.

In the afternoon, Hermione and Seamus were in the library, which was nearly empty except for some seventh years. Most students were out on the grounds whiling away their Saturday, enjoying the warming temperatures.

She was helping Seamus with his Transfiguration homework, while simultaneously reading up on more Apparition theory, when Ron rushed in, looking agitated.

“Why are you so out of breath?” she asked him suspiciously as he plopped down, looking behind him for signs of Harry.

“I’ve only just escaped!”

“Escaped what?” Seamus asked.

“Lavender! She’s driving me mad. She wants to spend every waking moment with me, and then spends her time nagging me about how I don’t seem ‘present.’ I don’t even know what that means!”

Hermione pursed her lips, determined not to say anything.

“Have you tried tellin' her you need some space?” Seamus asked.

“You don’t think I’ve tried? Half the time I can’t get a word in, the other half she looks on the verge of tears.” He was exasperated, apparently feeling as if he had been put in a tough spot.

No longer able to focus on the Three D’s of Apparition, she closed her book in frustration. “Have you considered _why_ she might be acting like this?”

“No.”

Before she could lose control of her frustration and snap at him, Seamus spoke. “You should listen to Hermione. She’s bang on about this girl stuff,” he said with a smile in her direction.

Despite her frustration, Hermione smiled sheepishly. At least one of her friends, which she felt she could fairly call Seamus now, felt that way. Although considering the mess she’d made for herself with Dean, maybe he shouldn’t have so much faith in her judgement.

“Yeah, you should listen to her,” came Dean’s deep voice from behind.

Ron sat up, drawing himself up to full height, locking eyes with Dean as he approached, levitating a few books in front of him. Not breaking eye contact, Dean lowered the books onto the table and placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked to him and he raised his eyebrows, checking to see if she was alright. Seamus’ eyes darted between all of them, sensing a sudden change in the atmosphere.

“Anyway, I should go find Harry. See you, Hermione,” Ron said, finally looking away from Dean. Without another word to Dean or Seamus, he got up and left, forgetting that he was meant to be hiding from Lavender.

Dean sat down in the vacated chair, his jaw clenched in frustration. He picked up a book at random from the small mound on their table, _Ansel’s Anthology on Apparition_. He didn’t look up from the book when he asked, “Has he apologized yet?”

“To Lavender?” Dean looked up, cutting her with a sharp look. She knew then he meant her. “Ah, well, no in either case...but—“

“Why do you keep trying to defend him?” he asked exasperatedly, sitting back in his seat, looking at her expectantly.

“I don’t know. I mean, he’s your roommate! You know what he’s like.”

“Exactly, I know what he’s like. He’s just going to keep taking advantage of you,” he said, leaning forward, setting the book to the side, voice now concerned.

Biting her lip, Hermione glanced at Seamus, feeling a little embarrassed. Seamus, thankfully was doing his best to busy himself with his Transfiguration book, jotting down notes very intently.

Dean also seemed to become aware that it wasn’t just the two of them at the table. He leaned back slightly, and placed his hand over hers, resting on the table. He gave it a squeeze as he said, “Just think about it, OK?”

She nodded and he pulled his hand away, picking up a book from the stack he had just brought over.

It surprised her how seriously he was taking any of this. While she conceded that he had a point in regards to Ron’s cyclical behavior, this was just par for the course of being Ron’s friend. Ron didn’t only treat her this way. He’d done similar things to Harry in the past and was clearly doing it to Lavender as well. When Hermione pointed this out though, Dean would just assert that, “Harry and Lavender aren’t my concern.”

Per his wishes, she did try to think about it over the course of the next day. Yes, Ron could be a bit sensitive and temperamental. But they had been friends for so long, she had just accepted that side of him. Just like he had accepted her bossiness and impatience. He was quick to jealously, but he was also fiercely loyal. There had been multiple times when he’d ended up losing House points or landed himself in detention in an attempt to defend her to the Slytherins or even Snape. She knew this wasn’t an excuse for his behavior, but she understood that friendship was about give and take. Right now, she was just happy to have her friend back.

It was hard to see all of the faults from before, now that the three of them were all on speaking terms. The routine felt so welcome, she hadn’t realized how much she had missed it. The following evening, after she had bid Dean good night, she joined Harry and Ron in their usual spot by the fire.

The relief she felt at being able to sit and join them, rather than heading to the dormitories because Ron was present, quickly dissipated at the sight of what was in Harry’s hands.

“You won’t find anything in there,” she said eyeing the Prince’s book irritably.

“Don’t start, Hermione,” said Harry, not glancing up from the book. “If it hadn’t been for the Prince, Ron wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

“He would if you’d just listened to Snape our first year,” she said with a sniff, reaching up to begin unbraiding her hair, intending to tie it up in a pineapple for bed.

It had been almost a week since Professor Dumbledore had expressed his disappointment in Harry’s lack of progress in their last meeting. Hermione thought he deserved the telling off, feeling rather vindicated. She knew she should be happy he was back to thinking of solutions, but he had spent the week pondering over the Prince’s book instead of spending any time thinking of _real_ solutions for getting on Slughorn's good side.

The common room slowly began to empty. The sixth years, having been excited by the notice announcing the date of their Apparition Test, had lingered behind to discuss the news. Hermione and the boys lost track of time, chatting about Apparition and pondering over their own fates. She had unbraided her two French plaits and shook out her hair before any of them realized what time it was.

Ron desperately tried to refocus on his essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“Argh!” he exclaimed. “This bloody quill. One of Fred and George’s Spell-Check ones. It figures. The charm must be wearing off...”

Hermione moved to the spot next to him, looking over at the parchment as she piled her hair on top of her head, gathering it with a scrunchie. “Oh I expect so. ‘Augury’ isn’t spelled O-R-G and ‘belligerent’ isn’t B-U-M.” Then she broke out into laughter. “And I don’t remember you changing your name to ‘Roonil Wazlib’ either.”

“No! Please don’t tell me I’ll have to write the whole thing out again!” he said, horror-struck.

Mirth subsiding, she pulled the essay towards her and took out her wand, “It’s alright, we can fix it.”

“I love you, Hermione,” he said sinking back into the couch in relief.

She felt herself grow slightly pink, knowing he meant nothing by it, but uncomfortable with the implication still. “Don’t let Lavender or Dean hear you saying that,” she murmured.

She had just finished fixing the damage of Ron’s spell-check quill when there was a loud _crack_. Hermione gave a small shriek as Ron spilled ink all over the parchment. Before them stood Kreacher, the house-elf.

_Crack._

Now Dobby was there too, much to Kreacher’s apparent disdain.

“Dobby has been helping Kreacher, Harry Potter!” Dobby squeaked.

Gaping at the elves and then back at Harry, Hermione finally found the words to ask, “What is this? What is going on, Harry?”

He hesitated before answering, a sign already that the answer would anger her. And she wasn’t wrong.

—

Dobby and Kreacher had finally left, relaying their adventures in tailing Malfoy at Harry’s behest. Hermione was still fuming. She siphoned ink off of Ron’s essay with her wand, not wanting to participate in any of Harry’s excited musings. She wasn’t sure what was more bothersome, that Harry had used elf labor, that he had used them to tail Malfoy, or that he had done all of this instead of focusing his efforts on getting the memory from Slughorn.

Ron and Harry had deduced that Crabbe and Goyle must be using Polyjuice Potion in order to help Malfoy with whatever he was up to. Harry then figured Malfoy had used the weight of his Dark Mark to coerce them into doing his bidding.

Unable to help herself she said, “Hmm...the Dark Mark we don’t know exists.” She rolled up Ron’s essay and thrust it back to him.

“We’ll see,” Harry said with a smug unearned confidence. This was all speculation without any hard facts. And more than that, none of it mattered.

“Yes, we will,” she said, standing and stretching. “But, before you get too excited, I don’t think you should forget that what you’re _supposed_ to be concentrating on, per Dumbledore’s orders, is getting that memory from Slughorn.” She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder and with her chin raised resolutely, she stalked away and up to the girl’s dormitory.

—

It was ironic and frustrating that Dean was pressing her to hold Ron accountable when it was Harry who was going to send her straight to St. Mungo’s. Given the sensitive nature of pretty much all things concerning Harry, she couldn’t vent her frustrations to Dean. That left Ron as the only friend she could really talk to.

That Friday evening, she and Ron were patrolling the seventh floor corridors. They were meant to be patrolling the opposite ends of the floor but, as he always did when they patrolled, Ron insisted on them walking together.

“It’s boring, isn’t it? Walking empty corridors just in case a student is dumb enough to come bumbling right into me,” he complained.

“Yes, but McGonagall clearly assigned this corridor to me and you’re supposed to be patrolling near Flitwick’s office.”

“If I go back in that direction, I’m going to the common room and going to bed.”

“You can’t!” Hermione said firmly, a bit louder than she meant.

 _“Shh!”_ a few nearby portraits hissed, apparently roused from their slumber.

Ron covered his mouth in a failed attempt to contain his laughter.

She stood, lit wand still raised in one hand, the other placed on her hip. He shook vigorously with unreleased laughter. “Fine,” she sighed, dropping her hand from her hip. “If you’re going to tag along, at least be quiet.”

He nodded solemnly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Dunno why we have to patrol this corridor anyway. Who’s going to come mucking about this close to Dumbledore’s office?”

“Would you rather we patrol the corridor _you_ were assigned? I’m not picky.”

“No, I’d _rather_ be back by the fire—“ he stopped himself, noticing her glare. “Alright, I'll drop it. Why don’t we patrol by the Room of Requirement? Least that’ll be interesting if Malfoy shows up.”

“Not you, too,” she said with a groan. They turned down a corridor brightly lit with torches, the corridor leading to Dumbledore’s office. She extinguished her wand.

“No of course not ‘me, too,’” he said with a slight laugh. “You gotta admit though, Harry’s probably right. Malfoy’s up to _something_.”

“Whether he’s right or not, it doesn’t matter. He’s wasted time all year obsessing over Malfoy when he _should_ be focused on the tasks Dumbledore assigns him,” she said haughtily.

“I know. You should have heard him when you and I—“ he caught himself mid-sentence, shooting her a worried glance. He shook his head and continued. “Well, anyway, before he was worse. Had the Marauder’s Map open even before he went to bed.”

“Merlin,” she said, shaking her head, absentmindedly peering out of a passing window. There was rain streaming across the panes of glass.

“You don’t think he...ya know...I mean he hasn’t really fancied anyone since Cho.”

Hermione spun around to look at Ron incredulously, expecting him to laugh. But he was serious. This made her double over with mirth. Part of her longed to see his face when he found out who Harry actually had feelings for, the thought of it alone made her laugh even harder. Several portraits nearby began shushing her, but she couldn’t stop.

“What? It’s not unheard of. I have a great-uncle on my mum’s side who was always a bit of a dandy, but we always thought he might—“

“Stop, just stop,” she said waving her hand at him trying to silence him through her tears. “To answer your question: no, I don’t think Harry has feelings for _Draco Malfoy_.”

“ _Am I speaking Gobbledygook? I say! Some of us are trying to sleep!”_ shouted a rather grumpy looking warlock from a portrait nearby.

Hermione bit back a new wave of laughter and nodded sheepishly, pulling a confused Ron along to finish their patrol.

—

The Easter Holidays came and went without much fanfare for the N.E.W.T.s level students who had stayed behind. Their days were filled with tackling the mountains of homework the teachers had assigned before break. Hermione was, of course, up to the challenge, but even she hadn’t finished her assignments until the first week of the break had passed. The rest of the time she spent rereading her favorite bits of Apparition theory, laying out by the lake studying with Harry and Ron or Dean and Seamus and helping them all with their remaining assignments.

After the break, Hermione, and many sixth year students, were pleased to return to Apparition lessons to find themselves much improved. Hermione, who had already Apparated twice, was able to Apparate one more time in the lesson leading up to their test. Ron had described it to Harry as perfect, and Twycross, their instructor, had raved over her abilities. Even Ron had managed to successfully reappear in their last lesson. He missed his mark, but was thrilled nonetheless.

Despite her success, Hermione still couldn’t shake her nerves. In the days leading up to the test, she was beginning to wonder if she should even take it. Apparition felt awful. She wanted to will herself to like it because it was magical and better than flying, but she couldn’t bring herself around to the idea.

When she confided this to Dean on the way down to the Great Hall for dinner the evening before their test, he agreed.

“Yeah it’s awful, like you’re being sucked through a tube. I think I’ll just stick to driving. What’s so wrong with a Muggle car that they prefer _that_?”

They laughed together and she said, “I guess I may have to get my driver’s license after all.”

He grabbed her hand and smiled at her. “Maybe I could teach you if there’s time over the summer. You live close enough.”

She slid her hand out of his, feeling a blush coming over her. Lately, she had done her best to avoid holding his hand, as it always left her palms clammy and heart racing and she was sure he was bound to feel her pulse jumping out through her skin.

Trying to act as if nothing were amiss, she said matter of factly, “But we’ll be broken up by then.”

He laughed and nudged her to the side. “Sure to _everyone else_ , but we’ll still be _friends,_ won’t we?”

Her heart soared, in spite of itself. Finally, she had the answer to the question she’d been too embarrassed to ask. They _were_ friends. Of course, now that seemed obvious. But she had been worried that after all was said and done, they wouldn’t be—that everything would go back to how it was before.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right!” she said with a bright grin.

He took up her hand again, and pulled her down the corridor, rambling on about plans to teach her to drive, starting in a car park.

As he spoke, a weight pulled her back down from floating so high. She couldn’t tell him, of course, but she probably wouldn’t be home for very long over the summer. If she could manage it, she’d head straight for the Order after she’d visited her parents for a bit. She was still in school, but she was of age, and she had a feeling she could get Remus to convince the others to induct her. Still, even just the idea of spending time with Dean over the summer was enough to put a smile on her face as they entered the Great Hall.

—

The day of their Apparition test dawned bright and breezy upon the Hogwarts grounds. The whole day, Hermione was a bundle of nerves. Ron and Harry tried to calm her, reminding her that she’d been successfully Apparating for weeks now, but it was no use. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to be the moment she failed.

Practical magical tests always brought her a certain amount of stress. Even when she knew she could perform the incantation or other ability successfully, there was always a small part of her that was sure it wouldn’t work, as if the magic that had randomly appeared in her would Disapparate without warning.

She was thankful she had a full schedule of classes to distract her. Sometimes in classes, Dean also tried to calm her, like in Ancient Runes when he began rubbing her back as they bent over a nearly destroyed piece of ancient text. This, of course, did nothing but further agitate her nerves.

In Arithmancy, he slipped her a sketch with a mischievous wink. _Passing notes in class,_ she thought, _what is this, a Muggle secondary school?_ Instead of feeling irritated at his disregard for the rules, she smiled as she unfolded the sketch.

He had gotten better at using his enchanted sketch pencils. The picture featured a cartoon Hermione with bold curls Disapparating and then reappearing, waving a little lion pennant, only for her to disappear and reappear again. She kept looking at the little cartoon throughout the remainder of class, finding that it did make her feel a little better.

For lunch, Hermione joined Harry and Ron in the courtyard, hoping the warm sunlight might do the trick in finally banishing her nerves. Instead, she found herself clutching the Ministry of Magic leaflet they had been given that morning— _Common Apparition Mistakes and How to Avoid Them_ —as if it were a life preserver keeping her from drowning in the sea of her inadequacy.

“So, where’s Dean off to then?” Ron asked nonchalantly, not looking up from his own pamphlet.

“The library,” she said distractedly. “He had a Charms essay to finish.”

“And you aren’t helping him with it?” he asked, glancing at her.

Hermione looked at Harry who shrugged, not interested in being a part of this conversation. “No,” she said, “he knew I wanted to study and didn’t want both of us to miss out on the good weather.”

Before he could reply, Ron gave a start as a girl rounded the corner near them.

Hermione rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to her pamphlet, and wearily said, “It isn’t Lavender.”

The girl walked up to Harry, looking nervous and red in the face. “Harry Potter? I was asked to give you this.” She handed him a roll of parchment and sprinted away.

“Dumbledore said we wouldn’t have any more lessons until I got the memory!” he said, looking at the roll of parchment apprehensively.

“Maybe he wants to check how you’re doing?” Hermione suggested, trying to be encouraging.

It turned out to be a tear-stained letter from Hagrid to the three of them relaying the news that Aragog had died and requesting their presence at his funeral. They quickly decided it was out of the question, for Ron especially given his fear of spiders. Hermione thought it would be wasteful to risk detention now if Harry was going to get the memory from Professor Slughorn by some other means.

“Look, Potions will be empty this afternoon with all of us doing our tests,” Hermione explained, “Try and soften Slughorn up a bit then!”

Harry scoffed bitterly. “Right. Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?”

“Lucky,” Ron said suddenly, “Harry, that’s it—get lucky!”

Hermione gasped. How had she not thought of that before? She had been so bitter over the Felix Felicis, having lost out on it in class unfairly and Harry having tricked her with it during the first Quidditch match, that she had put it mostly out of her head.

“Ron, that’s it! Of course!” She beamed at the two of them, relieved that they might actually be able to secure the memory. Her smile dimmed slightly seeing Harry’s face.

“Felix Felicis? I dunno...I was sorta saving it...” Harry trailed off into a mumble.

“What for?” Ron asked incredulously.

“What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?” she asked suddenly riled, daring him to say what she was worried he might. _If he says anything about Malfoy, I might actually hex him this time,_ she thought.

But then a soft, slightly embarrassed look overcame him and a light color tinted his cheeks. Hermione bit her lip realizing what, or rather who, he must have wanted to use it for. If Harry used it to try to win over Ginny, it might solve her problems, too, she thought wryly.

She shook her head and instead said, “Earth to Harry,” snapping him out of his reverie.

It was agreed upon that he would use the Felix that evening if he wasn’t able to get anything out of Slughorn while they were away at Hogsmeade.

“That’s decided then,” Hermione said, standing up. Then she murmured to herself, “Destination, determination, deliberation,” spinning in what she hoped was a graceful pirouette.

“Oh stop that,” Ron said, annoyed. “I’m worked up enough as it is—quick, hide me!”

“Would you stop it! It isn’t Lavender! And if it was, it’d probably be for the best. You need to actually talk to her and stop panicking at the sight of every girl.”

“S’not my fault. She’s mental,” he said, somewhat chastised.

The bell sounded overhead, signaling the end of the lunch period. “Anyway,” she said as she gathered her things, ignoring Ron’s ignorance, “I’m off to History of Magic. I’ll see you in Hogsmeade. Good luck, Harry!”

—

Generally, she found History of Magic to be quite interesting, especially given the subject of the current chapter, _“Wizarding Colonization in India."_   Today, however, she couldn’t stop glancing at her watch. Her leg bounced so much that Professor Binns paused his dry reading to give her a severe look. By the time the bell rang, she was so worked up, she shot up from her desk, and out the door, right into Dean.

He laughed, “Alright there?” She nodded enthusiastically. “Let’s go then.”

He offered his hand, which she took to calm her nerves, or so she told herself. She was talking a mile a minute, going over the details of the three D’s and specific instances of tests gone horribly wrong—including one where a student had splinched themselves, part of them ending up in Northern Ireland.

They were outside, walking down the path leading away from the castle, when she finally paused in her speech, noticing that Dean was staring at her in vague disbelief.

“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real.” Hermione opened her mouth ready to retort, offended, but Dean cut her off. “You’re easily the smartest witch I’ve ever met. And yet, somehow, you don’t seem to know that.”

Hermione felt lost for words. She knew she was smart, for all the reading she’d done growing up she ought to be. But how could she explain the feeling of her magic being like a well that she was happy to have discovered, but was constantly worrying might run dry?

“I always sort of thought your nerves before exams were a bit of an act, but you’re actually nervous up to the last, aren’t you?”

“Erm, yes?” she said, not fully understanding his point. “This is important. Just because I was able to do it before doesn’t mean I’ll be able to perform during the test.”

He shook his head and laughed, throwing his arm around her, pulling her close. “Listen Granger, if _you_ can’t pass, then the rest of us are up a creek without a paddle.”

The testing area was set up on Hogsmeade’s main street, which had been cordoned off with several Aurors stationed around at strategic points. This didn’t dampen the spirit of the excited sixth years, who were all eager to put the test behind them and get approval for their license.

The test itself wasn’t complex. There were three examiners who would be grading them on their distance traveled—“Destination,” their aim—“Determination,” and their form—“Deliberation.” They waited in a line along the sidewalk as the examiners called them up. Their objective was to Apparate from their current position to the end of the long street, at the Hogshead where a hoop had been positioned. A non-scoring examiner waited at the end to confirm results for the others.

Hermione couldn’t bring herself to watch the other students go. The atmosphere was tense and she could hear the series of _cracks_ as each student Disapparated and then the echoes of faint _cracks_ for the ones that successfully appeared in their hoop at the far end. There were a few yelps of pain and instances of ensuing commotion from what she assumed were from splinched students.

“Granger, Hermione!” Wilkie Twycross, their instructor who was overseeing the proceedings, called out.

Hermione let out a squeak, and looked up at Dean.

He smiled and gave her a poke in the side, “Go on, then!”

Hermione walked up to the second examiner, who was standing next to an empty hoop.

“Alright Miss Granger we will be scoring you on a scale from 1 to 10 in these three areas...”

 _Calm and steady_ , Hermione said to herself, trying to regulate her breathing, trying to take in as much information from the monotone examiner as she could.

“Do you understand the instructions as I have explained them, Miss Granger?”

She nodded emphatically.

“Alright, you may begin your Disapparition.”

Hermione let out a great woosh of air, having found during lessons that holding as little air in her lungs as possible made Apparition slightly more bearable. She envisioned the hoop at the end of the road, picturing herself in it. She was _going_ to stand in it. She turned swiftly on the spot and felt herself being pulled along, as if she were being forced through a small straw.

To her great relief, when she opened her eyes, and the world had expanded again, she found that she had landed surprisingly gracefully in the dead center of the hoop. She turned around, grinning from ear to ear, to see Wilkie Twycross down the road applauding.

The rest of testing passed without incident. There were a few students who were unable to Apparate at all. Dean did really well that she could tell, although he swore he barely made it into the hoop.

She hadn’t seen Ron, but did notice him standing a ways off with Lavender, who appeared to be fretting over him. It looked to her like he was missing half an eyebrow. She thought to go over to him and ask how he’d done, but thought that neither Lavender nor Dean would fancy that very much.

Waiting for the results felt like it went on for ages. Hermione couldn’t stop fidgeting and Dean mostly just sat and watched her, amused. When the results were finally posted on the village notice board, Hermione ran to it.

She cut through the few students who were already searching the results. Scanning the sheet she finally found her name.

Turning to Dean, she squealed. “I passed!” In her excitement, she jumped on him, laughing in relief. He laughed with her, holding her steady as she jumped up and down, barely able to contain herself.

“‘Course you did,” Dean’s voice came out muffled with her curls flying in his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

Not letting go of her, he craned his neck over her mass of curls to scan the list for his own name. She turned to look too. Next to his name, “ _Pass”_ was written in green. She whooped and laughed. He was docked slightly for being a few inches off target, but that didn’t matter to her. They could now return all of the Apparition books they had checked out to the library!

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “A pass is a pass.”

“You did really well! A few inches is nothing.” She smiled at him encouragingly.

He returned the smile, his dimples winking out at her, sending a series of flutters through her. He held out his hand, ready to return to the castle.

“One second,” she said, turning back to the list.

She scanned until she got to the bottom. “ _Weasley, Ron...Fail — Splinched.”_

Looking through the crowd, it was as she expected, a very ill-tempered and red-eared Ron was standing to the side. Lavender appeared to be trying to console him, but Hermione could tell that it was only further irritating him.

Dean squeezed her hand, bringing her attention back to him. “Do you wanna wait for him?”

She shook her head, turning back toward the castle. “He’ll be fine.”

Their spirits were high as they walked back to the castle. The sun was beginning to sink behind the turrets, casting a warm glow on the Hogwarts grounds. A cool breeze floated past them from the lake. Most of the students elected to stay behind to have a celebratory or a commiserative drink at the Three Broomsticks. It seemed only Ron, likely desperate to get away from his companions, Lavender, and Parvati were heading back, as well.

She could hear renewed coos of “Won-Won,” coming from behind them, Ron’s very slight injury apparently inspiring forgiveness in Lavender. Hermione turned to look at the pair. Parvati was walking arm and arm with Lavender while Ron had a surly expression, refusing to participate in whatever conversation they were having. He’d be fine by this evening, she knew, but she did wish he would stop stringing Lavender along when they were clearly both so unhappy.

Dean and Hermione laughed and joked as they made their way up the path. Dean teasing Hermione, insinuating that Twycross had a crush on her.

“I mean and why not?” he exclaimed. “You’ve got the brains and you spin so prettily when you Apparate. You’re a 10 in old Wilkie’s book.”

She giggled. “He’s not really my type.”

“Is it the wrinkles? Or the candy-floss hair?”

Wrinkling her nose she shook her head. “I’m not that shallow. It’s his whispery voice. You can never hear a word he’s saying! Speak up, man!”

They laughed, their hands clasped, swinging merrily between them. Another breeze flowed through the air, blowing Hermione’s hair across her face. Normally she might be self-conscious of her hair blowing out of place and frizzing up, but with Dean she knew he didn’t care. She looked up to see him watching her.

“What?” she asked with a laugh, ready for another Twycross joke.

“You’re just really pretty,” he said almost disbelievingly. He blinked, shaking his head, almost as if he were rousing himself from a stupor.

Hermione’s face felt as if it had been placed under a heat lamp. She bit her lip, and looked down, trying to remain impassive. “Oh, thank you.”

“It’s not a wonder you’ve got Weasley so bothered.”

Almost forgetting her embarrassment she said indignantly, “I don’t have Ron...” but she trailed off, noticing Dean’s expression, lost in thought. She closed her mouth.

She really wished he wouldn’t do that. But how could she ask him to stop flirting with her when as far as he knew, they were in a consensually fake but friendly relationship? She couldn’t, not without admitting her changed feelings, and she didn’t think she could bear that. If that was how this charade ended, all she will have done is traded one humiliation for another.

They reached the castle in a comfortable silence. He stopped at the top of the steps leading towards the great oak door, not bothering to pull open the door. He looked at her for a moment, and Hermione had the distinct feeling he was sizing her up.

“Do you think he’s still behind us?”

He didn’t have to clarify, she knew he meant Ron. “I suppose. I don’t remember seeing him pass us.”

Before she could turn to check, he tugged at their clasped hands, pulling her firmly into his chest. Confused, she didn’t have time to ask what he was doing, or, much less process his hand on her jaw, gently lifting her mouth to his.

This was a real kiss. It was slow and purposeful and warm. How had she not noticed how warm his lips were all those months ago? How many months _had_ it been? She didn’t know. This close to him, his scent enveloped her, the smell of bergamot overpowering the rest of her senses. It was all overwhelming. If pressed, she wasn’t sure she even remembered her own name. She only knew his lips against hers, and his warm hand pressed to her cheek.

And in an instant, it was over. Dean pulled away from her, looking down at her with unreadable eyes. She felt dazed, her lips slightly parted in shock. Her heart was thundering against her chest so loudly, she was sure he could hear it.

“I’m off to find Seamus, so I’ll see you later?” he asked, as if they had just merely hugged.

“Erm, well, I have a thing with Harry, so, I—yes. See you later,” she said, trying desperately to cobble together a normal sentence and hide the shakiness in her voice.

“Alright then,” he said, his thumb grazing her cheek, sending chills through her. “See you.”

He smirked at her before dropping his hand and walking away, leaving her stunned on the steps.

\--

Originally posted on [Black Girls Create](http://www.blackgirlscreate.org/hogwarts-bsu-1/2019/5/to-all-the-wizards-the-test).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so soon! Told you all I would try and do better. Thank you all as always for the kind comments. It really makes my day to know anyone is enjoying reading about these two as much as I did writing them!


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